GRACES AND POWERS 



OP THE 



CHRISTIAN LIFE. 



BY 

A. D. MAYO, 

MTKISTER OP THE INDEPENDEJfT CHRISTIAN SOCIETT, 
GLOUCESTER, MASS. 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY ABEL TOMPKINS, 

38 CORNHILL. 
1 853. 



3K^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 185^ 
By ABEL TOMPKINS, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



STEEEOTTPED BT 

HOBART & ROBBINS, 

KEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDERT, 
BOSTON. 



%m. €\)mB Mm ling, 

THE COMPANION OF MY EARLY STUDIES; 
THE FRIEND OF MY SOCIAL LIFE; 
BROTHER OP MY NOBLER LIFE IN THE MINISTRY OF JESUS CHRIST 



PEEFACE. 



Now that I am about to inform the readers of my book what 
place I would have it occupy in their esteem, I confess to an 
embarrassment I have not felt during its preparation. I know 
well enough what these words are to me ; what they can be- 
come to others, I know not. Yet of this I am certain, they 
must not be read as a treatise upon theology, or even a book 
of sermons. To inflict upon a community worried by its legion 
of theological systems a new one, at the end of a six years' 
parish ministry, or to offer discourses which, at best, are but a 
series of experiments in the art of pulpit expression, as models 
for anybody's imitation, is not my present ambition. 

Of course, as a minister of Christianity, I shrink not from 
the consequences of wlmt I do ; and he who will show me any 
dangerous heresy, or defect in taste, in these pages, shall be 
reckoned so far my friend. But I confess I would rather hear 
that one man or woman had been awakened to newness of life 
by these my words, than that I had appeased the theologians 
and charmed the critics. My book, if anything, is an attempt 
to reflect a few of the " Graces and Powers of the Christian 
Life," as they have come to me, and I have been able to render 
them before the people to whom I minister. In selecting the 
discourses, I have chosen such as are valuable to myself, be- 
cause they were written out of a genuine feeling, — often out 
of a vital experience. I certainly may speak of what I know ; 
1"^ 



VI 



PREFACE. 



and I do know the truth of what is here so imperfectly trans- 
lated. I would have these pages read, then, as sincere words 
written out of varied moods of doubt and faith ; and a culture 
gained more from life than books ; and toils not so great in 
themselves as formidable to a weariness which has often found 
in them its best solace ; and the love of a few who have now 
become a part of all I do and am ; and the efforts of whose 
faithfulness God must judge, to speak well of the grand, beau- 
tiful and solemn facts of the soul. I would have my book 
read as a whole, from beginning to end, that the reader may 
gather from an entire impression that unity of rhythm and 
spirit which underlies unity of form and opinion, and is the 
vital power in every living book or living man. That, now 
and then, some fact of the Christian life may appear more real 
and imperative from the point of view at which I have seen it, 
and that the spirit in which I believe myself to have written 
may be communicated to the reader, is all I dare hope will 
come of my work. 

I am willing to trust this volume to those who can accept it 
as I give it ; to them only does it belong. They will dis- 
cover that the best thing in it is my desire to become a better 
preacher and a better man than he who wrote it. I have never 
so truly felt as now how poorly our best words represent our 
deepest life, how far is that life itself below the Christian's 
ideal. These pages are now a part of my past. May such a 
blessing as they deserve go out with them into the world, while 
I press onward in the high service of my Lord and Master ! 

Gloucester, Mat 1, 1852. 



CONTENTS. 



I. 

SPIRITUAL THINGS SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED 9 

II. 

THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE WORLD 23 

III. 

HUMAN DEPENDENCE 37 

IV. 

QUENCHING THE SPIRIT 49 

V. 

THE CONTERSION OF SAUL 60 

VI. 

INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN PHILANTHROPIC ACTION T3 

VII. 

TEN RIGHTEOUS MEN 89 

VIII. 

UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF RELIGIOUS CHARACTER 98 

IX. 

GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN 113 

X. 

SINCERITY 123 

XI. 

SELF-CONTROL 137 



VIII 



CONTENTS. 



XII. 

EETEIBtmVE LOVE 150 

XIII. 

REWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS 165 

XIV. 

MANNERS 176 

XV. 

USE OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS 192 

XVI. 

ANALOGY OF THE YEAR 210 

XVII. 

COMPLAINT 221 

XVIII. 

STRENGTH IN SORROW 235 

XIX. 

VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED . . 250 

XX. 

THE WALK TO EMMAUS 262 

XXI. 

OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR 2T5 



7 I. 

SPIRITUAL THINGS SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



*' But the natural man receiyeth not tlie things of the Spirit of God : 
for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because 
they are spiritually discerned." — 1 Cor. 2 : 14. 

In this passage Paul teaches that the sensual, worldly 
man, who is interested only in outward things, is incapa- 
ble of accepting the truths of religion, or knowing the 
superior excellence of a rehgious life. Most of the people 
in the world are in this condition, and, therefore, do not 
appreciate or obey Christianity ; neither can they do so 
until they comply with the conditions of spiritual growth; 
for Christianity, hke everything great and good, demands 
a long and hard discipline from its disciples, before it 
reveals itself To this truth I wish, now, to call your 
attention. Spiritual things are spiritually discerned ; the 
religious life can be understood only by religious men ; 
and a bad man, though obliged to walk by the light of his 
own conscience, is incompetent to decide upon moral dis- 
tinctions. I will endeavor to illustrate this fact by famil- 
iar examples ; show the conditions of knowledge in 



10 



SPIRITUAL THINGS 



spiritual things, and apply the general principles of my 
discourse to a few states of the public mind. 

The principle here affirmed of Christianity extends 
over the entire ground of human life. A man can under- 
stand only that of which he has accurate knowledge, 
gained by obedience to certain conditions. Especially is 
this true in actual Hfe. The great facts in a profession 
can only be known by him who has lived in it ; and a 
man's employment also modifies his general ideas of life, 
and creates the atmosphere through which he looks upon 
the world. 

The statesman learns statesmanship by study and pub- 
lic service. Erom his youth, he has been acquainted with 
politics, and a careful observer of the operation of laws. He 
has read history, that he might compare ancient and mod- 
ern states ; informed himself of the condition of the people 
under various kinds of government, — their industrial re- 
sources and habits, their intellectual and moral elevation. 
Furnished with the necessary information, he enters poht- 
ical life, and begins to test his knowledge and theories. 
He brings a philosophical mind to the interpretation of 
public events, while he permits those events to modify his 
erroneous opinions. Thus, by years of service, he gains, 
at last, political sagacity. He knows the great interests 
of his country, and its relations to foreign nations, and 
can almost predict with certainty the effect of any course 
of legislation. And he will naturally look at human life 
thi'ough the windows of the state, and think chiefly of 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



11 



the duties of man as a citizen. He has acquired this abil- 
ity and intellectual habit by the disciphne to which he has 
subjected himself. He discerns political things through 
political sagacity. 

Now, it is evident that his opinion is valuable upon states- 
manship, but of less value upon subjects with which he is 
unacquainted. He might indeed be an indifferent judge of 
poetry. The poet certainly is the man whose word must 
be accepted here ; for he has devoted his life to the prac- 
tice of this art. He is acquainted with the greatest pro- 
ductions of poetical literature, and decides upon their 
value, not by arbitrary or casual impressions, but a 
knowledge of the nature of poetry, its relation to the 
outward and inward world, and its laws of development. 
Thus he has acquired a poetic sense, and, when he reads 
a page of rhyme, knows whether it is a poem. And his 
view of life is poetic. He regards men in their relations 
to what is beautiful. His point of view is different from 
that of the statesman ; and the w^hole universe presents a 
different appearance. 

In like manner, the merchant, the scholar, the farmer, 
the mechanic, if a diligent student and laborer in his pro- 
fession, must know best its excellencies and defects ; while, 

the same time, his view of life is somewhat determined 
by the point he occupies. This truth is so well under- 
stood, that we are accustomed to treat the opinions of men 
upon subjects disconnected from their habits of thought 
with neglect, and resent the interference of one profession 
with another, as the attempt of folly to instruct wisdom. 



12 



SPIBITUAL THINGS 



The principle which is true in this respect of worldly 
affairs is emphatically true of religion. Rehgion is the 
most important of human affairs. The professions are 
modes of activity adapted to this state of existence, and 
many of them will probably never be resumed after death. 
But religion embraces the whole duty and education of 
man, and his relations to God and eternity. Therefore, it 
is the employment of all employments, and includes with- 
in itself everything else; holding this world and its affairs 
in secondary relations as means of accomphshing its work. 
And if no ordinary profession can be understood except 
by long study and practice, what shall we say of this, 
which is the highest knowledge, the most difficult art, the 
most arduous labor ? And if the statesman and the 
merchant cannot understand the peculiar worth of poetry, 
so well as the poet, and are unable to appreciate his views 
of life, how can the irrehgious man know the divine mys- 
teries of the spiritual world, and have that reahzing sense 
of the grandeur and excellence of the life in Christ pos- 
sessed by him who has consecrated his best powers and 
all his days to the service of Grod ? Religion is not to 
be iramediately comprehended by a sensual, careless mind, 
or by him who has sought everything except "the king- 
dom of God and his righteousness." The Gospel of 
Christ contains things which even the wicked and the 
ignorant may understand. It stoops to the lowest deep 
of human abasement, but only to raise the fallen soul up 
to itseE It is greater and better than any of us know ; 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



13 



only Jesus Christ knew all its treasures of wisdom and 
power. And according to our likeness to Jesus shall we 
discover its surpassing value. Only by compliance with 
conditions can we know anything of rehgion, or enjoy the 
pecuhar happiness and purity of discernment belonging to 
a genuine follower of the Master. 

These conditions of spiritual discernment will appear 
when we consider what religion is. Love to God and love 
to man, with everything which naturally depends upon 
and is related to it, is Christianity. But how can a 
worldly, selfish man obtain this spirit of love ? Now his 
affections are placed upon other objects, the great desires 
of his heart run counter to this. Before he can change 
the current of his nature he must be brought into a con- 
dition where he will be shown the insufficiency of his 
present mode of life, and directed to the only true source 
of satisfaction. How this happens is one of the myste- 
ries of our human nature ; but, by various outward agen- 
cies, which doubtless obey a higher than mortal com- 
mand, he is reminded of his sin, and impressed with a 
longing for something better. It may appear when some 
aflliction has taught him his own weakness ; or in the 
form of remorse for an act of wickedness ; or as an aspi- 
ration, born from the contemplation of a spectacle of good- 
ness ; — but, however it may come, it gives a desire to 
know more of holiness, and be more conformed to the 
spirit of God. 

But, as yet, there is little of the appreciation or enjoy- 
2 



14 



SPIRITUAL THINGS 



ment of a true life. The spiritual eye is dim ; and the 
confused soul, just awaking from its long sleep, knows not 
what to believe or do. But amid its confusion a point 
of life appears ; one course of action takes the form of 
duty ; and the man feels that, come what will, he must 
do this. And this obedience to duty is the path out of 
the darkness. He must follow his best convictions of rec- 
titude, asking help of God. and not being too vain of 
his own strength, follow them honestly, simply, persever- 
ingly. For Jesus has said; ''He who doeth the will of 
my Father, shall know of the doctrine." And, painful as 
it may be to begin the work of a good life in the midst of 
such uncertainty, there is yet no other way to the knowl- 
edge of good. Everything depends now upon fidehty to 
the best convictions. If there is only one duty clear to 
the conscience, and that apparently unimportant, it must 
nevertheless be performed ; for the whole hope of repent- 
ance hinges upon this. In saying this, it is not main- 
tained that a wicked soul can work its way up to holiness 
by merit of a few good acts. But the performance of 
these acts is the condition upon which strength is given, 
as an indication of the quality of the spirit. Therefore, 
let him who is just awakened to a desire for holiness, 
accept his sorrow, contrition and confusion for a time. 
These he must endure because he has sinned. And let 
him fix his eye upon whatever small, clear hght of duty 
shines through the darkness, and march straight to that, 
trusting in God. 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



15 



Then, as lie goes on, new light and power will be given 
liim. The performance of one obligation will clear the 
way towards the next. Gradually it will become easier 
to resist temptation, and virtue will appear more desirable. 
Moral distinctions will become more definite, and the con- 
science will become more sensitive to the presence of 
wrong. The longing for reconcihation to God will grow 
into a controlling passion, and the desire to love and do 
good to man, will increase with it. And thus, by a pro- 
cess not to be described, but partially comprehensible to 
him who has actually been through it, — though even not 
wholly clear to him, — does the soul pass out of its old 
state of rebellion and unrest into a condition of love, faith 
and obedience. 

No wonder that, when speaking of this great change, 
the writers of the New Testament call it ''a new birth," 
a ''putting on of the new man." So it is; for now the 
man who was selfish and worldly has become disinterested 
and spiritually-minded. Once his great object was to 
secure the possession of goods, or honors, or means of hap- 
piness ; now he cares only to live a good life ; and if 
this be done will consent to sufier any deprivation. Once 
the praise of man was the rule of his conduct ; now he 
seeks only the favor of God. Once he was troubled by 
the fluctuations of society, and reverses in his own fortune ; 
now he views earthly changes in their relation to the cul- 
ture of his soul for eternity. Once he lived in the world 
with cliance ; now he lives in the world with Providence. 



16 



SPIRITUAL THINGS 



In truth, his whole tone of thought and conduct is changed. 
He Hves for other objects, in a different moral atmosphere, 
and estimates character and events upon different princi- 
ples from his former habit. He has been "born again," 
— born into the kingdom of heaven, through the help of 
God, and his own faithful striving towards the light. " 

And this is the enlj man who knows divine things. 
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for thej shall see God." 
He has complied with the conditions of obtaining spiritual 
discernment, — has fought his way up to his present van- 
tage-ground of hope and peace. To him, love, truth and 
beauty, are the only realities. He alone can estimate the 
value of life ; for he stands above its narrow hopes and 
fears, his faith surely fixed upon God. Yes^ he is the 
man to tell you what religion is, — how it leads the soul 
out of slavery into glorious liberty, changes the whole 
purpose of existence, and gives a knowledge of man to 
which no wit can ever attain : how, when once enjoyed, 
it throws such an air of littleness over the objects of pop- 
ular ambition, that one can only look with compassion from 
its calm height upon the confused struggle below. This he 
knows, and he alone, because he has done God's will. 
His idea of religion is not a guess, a picture of the 
heated fancy, or a parson's catch- word; but is composed 
of the facts of his own experience. And in proportion to his 
advancement in the rehgious life his information becomes 
more accurate, his discernment more acute, his conscience 
more active, till his mind, in relation to others, is a test of 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



spiritual things, and Ms words and example a guide to 
many, — as one tall beacon will fling its rays along a coast, 
and light a thousand ships upon their journey home. 

The apostle therefore, in my text, only applies a famil- 
iar principle to the most important subject of thought. 
He says that the opinion of a man is good for nothing 
upon a matter of which he knows nothing ; and that, just 
as we would rely upon the words of an experienced states- 
man for information upon statesmanship, or value the ideas 
of a great poet upon his own art, so should we accept the 
testimony of a tried Christian to the worth of that religion 
with which he alone is acquainted. And that knowledge 
can be acquired only as he has gained it, by actually liv- 
ing the Christian life, and thereby entering into new and 
higher relations to man and God. 

But, strange to say, this most obvious principle is for- 
gotten when men of the world deal with religion. They 
are true to it while in contact with ordinary afiairs, upon 
which their temporal interest depends; but when they 
hear a good man talk of the value of the spiritual life, 
although they know he speaks from actual experience, 
they give but half a mind to his testimony. They have 
never seen evidence of what he affirms. It must be that 
those things which they see, and touch, and live with every 
day, are the only realities. It cannot be that unseen 
things ever assume that importance, to a man of common 
sense, which this person pretends. He must be fanatical, 
visionary, or at least unpractical. It may be well enough 
2* 



18 



SPIRITUAL THINGS 



for him to speak eloquently of religion, and live in his 
dreams and ecstasies; but for plain, direct, "matter-of- 
fact"' men, this fare is not substantial. This is the ordi- 
nary feeling about Christianity among men whose em- 
ployments are principally with material things. They 
admire a person who acts from principle and lives like 
Jesus Christ ; but are not quite sure whether, after all, he 
is not a splendid enthusiast, and will not, by and by, 
awake from his vision to what they call " the realities of 
life." There is a deep-seated scepticism of this kind 
through society, which is the most formidable obstacle to 
the success of Christianity. 

But; surely, these persons do not consider how illogical 
and inconsistent is their conduct. They assume to pro- 
nounce judgment upon the highest subject of human 
contemplation while in utter ignorance of it. Pray, my 
friend, who should know^ best what Christianity is 7 There 
is a man whose life, for many years, has been blameless. 
He has not been swept away by his passions, or appetites, 
or ambition, or covetousness. All these enemies he hag 
kept at arm's length. He has known trial, and not fallen 
into despair ; has known men, and preserved his love for 
humanity : has kept himself consistent, strong and pure, 
amid a thousand earthly changes. And now, at the end 
of a hfe of heroic struggles for the true and good, he tells 
you that religion is a reality, and the only reality. What 
argument against him can you offer ? ^Tiy, you suspect 
he may be deceived. Things look differently to you. 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



19 



And why should they not 1 You have spent your life in 
a lower region, in the headlong pursuit of riches, power, 
or some form of worldly pleasure. How can you know 
anything of religion ? Its invitations you have slighted, 
its duties you have repudiated ; you have sneered at its 
laws, despised its joys, and mocked at its threatenings. 
How can you hope to appreciate the truth of this man's 
words, or lift yourself to the comprehension of a character 
shaped amid sorrows, and labors, and delights, of which you 
know nothing ? Your argument is a baseless assertion, 
flung against his holy life. You would be despised, in a 
commercial enterprise, if you treated the opinions of an old 
merchant, who has carried London and Paris and India 
in his head for half a century, with contempt. The 
great statesman of the nation tells you his opinion upon 
the state of the country, and you believe him, and cannot 
sufficiently extol his sagacity. But here is a man who, 
for fifty years, has lived a devout and useful life ; has 
known what it is to love man and God; and when he 
tells you that your only real joy, and peace, and strength, 
must come from spiritual things, you say he is an enthu- 
siast, or, at least, lives as if he were talking of dreams. 
Eut he is right, and you, my friend, are wrong. And it 
is a dreadful delusion in which you live, out of which 
it becomes you to make a speedy retreat. You are down 
in a rocky valley, walled in by hills and cliffs, and can 
only look a little way around, and see a bare strip of sky 
overhead. He stands upon yonder peak, radiant with the 



20 



SPIRITUAL THINGS 



setting sun, and looks abroad over fields, and rivers, and 
cities, out to the horizon's verge. You may stay where 
you are, and tell him this grand sight is all a figment of 
his own brain ; but it were wiser, methinks, to climb up 
where he is, and open your soul to the glories which fill 
his own, and bend your knees with him beneath the awful 
heavens. 

This is folly, indeed ; but we are sometimes compelled 
to endure more than this ; to see those who know nothing 
of religion, and whose lives have been anything but reli- 
gious, assume to teach others concerning moral distinc- 
tions/ Some father, whose years have been sold to 
Mammon, instructing his son to make self-interest the 
rule of life ; some mother, whose soul never opened wide 
enough to let in a generous afiection, teaching her daugh- 
ter that there is no true love ; some partisan soldier of a 
Christian sect, reading saints out of the church ; some 
politician, scarred by a hundred elections, in which the 
contest was not for justice, but power, in a great moral 
crisis of a nation's life, gravely taking the chair of divin- 
ity ; explaining the Bible and the " whole duty of man 
talking down conscience, and discharging his indignation 
against men who have lived near God long enough to 
know that He is the ruler of the universe. In a moral 
crisis, only a good man's opinion is valuable. The words 
of men who have thought of little but their trade, their 
politics, or their pleasures, however important on minor 
points, are of small worth now. They will apply to great 



SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



21 



questions of duty the logic of the counter or the caucus, 
or permit their love of ease to drive out their love of 
truth. The desirable man, now, is he who has lived a 
spiritual life in the world, and by long efforts in the ser- 
vice of his Master, and profound knowledge of men and 
events, has gained a clearness of discernment almost pro- 
phetic. He will do justice to human interests, because 
he stands above them, and cause God's will to be done ; 
for, in the words of Paul, — "He that is spiritual judgeth 
all things, yet he himself is judged of no man/' 

It is a solemn period in a man's life, when he awakes 
to the fact that religion is the only reahty. Have not 
you, my friends, at times, more than suspected this to be 
true ? I doubt it not. Then accept that moment's belief 
as the highest in your life, and strive upward toward it. 
Obey the first duty ; follow your best light. Then you 
will become possessors of that spiritual sense to which 
this world and the future appear in their true relations. 
This may be hard to believe, and harder to do. But you 
have the assurance of every noble soul that this is the 
way to manhood. Be thankful to God, that he has given 
this long array of spirits, ascending in saintly rank up to 
Jesus Christ, that you might find a companion at every 
step of your journey to heaven. These are your instruc- 
tors, these your friends. Look upon their faces and 
grasp their hands, for their strength is from above, and 
the fight upon their brows falls from the splendor around 
the throne. Distrust the pleading of your passions and 



22 SPIRITUAL THINGS SPIRITUALLY DISCERNED. 



your selfisliness. Listen to the voice, however low, that 
calleth to better things. So shall you be released from 
the bondage of self and the senses, and look through clear, 
piercing eyes, which everywhere in earth and heaven 
behold the glory of God. 



II. 



THE KINODOM OF GOD AND THE WORLD. 



*' Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness ; and all 
these things shall be added unto you." — Matt. 6 : 33. 

In the preceding verses of this chapter, the Saviour 
■vyarns his disciples against an undue interest in the things 
of this world. By illustrations drawn from the "hlies of 
the field," and the "fowls of the air," he represents to them 
the providence of God ; and infers thence that too much 
anxiety about food and raiment is an implication of the 
Divine benevolence. This he says, not to encourage an 
indolent reliance upon Providence, but to discourage an 
absorbing pursuit of earthly goods. And this naturally 
brings him to the truth of our text. Having shown what 
the purpose of life is not, he now states what it is. 

Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteous- 
ness; and all these things shall be added unto you.'''' 

I will now attempt to explain and illustrate the mean- 
ing of this passage. What did Jesus Christ mean, when 
he said, " Seek first the kingdom of God and his right- 
eousness ; and all these things shall he added unto you "? 

And, first, he did not mean that if a man obeys God he 
shall be rewarded by earthly prosperity; or if a sinner, 



24 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD 



sball be punished by earthly misfortune. He did not 
mean this, and I am particularly desirous to put this 
notion out of the way before I proceed in my discourse ; 
for the mischief it does in preventing a correct view of the 
Christian life is incalculable. It degrades religion to a 
trade between the Creator and his creatures. Upon their 
part, obedience is promised; upon his, the good things 
of the world. So the righteous man works for wages, 
and even murmurs against God if he is not satisfied 
according to his own estimate of what is due. 

The doctrine is not supported by facts. Good men are 
not always, or often, the most fortunate. Look into any 
community, and you will be satisfied that, as far as houses 
and lands and such things go, the best men are often the 
worst off. The man who has cheated all his life, may 
have money, and the honest merchant become a bank- 
rupt. The ignorant and godless creature of fashion 
lives in the midst of luxuries that only oppress him, 
while under his windows a young man of genius and piety 
enough to regenerate a city is wearing out his hfe in labors 
which a hundredth part of the yearly income of his neigh- 
bor would relieve. The great and good men only get into 
the minor offices of state, — fortunate if they get there ; 
the little, bad politicians are placed in the highest situa- 
tions, — so it is, at least, as often as otherwise. Good- 
ness is as often in straits as sin. and in spite of all our • 
predictions it continues so to be. 

And a Christian is willing enough it should be so; 



AND THE WORLD. 25 

since goodness cannot be paid for, nor is the "Kingdom 
of God meat and drink." Wlien a man loves the truth, 
and obeys it, he forgets this mercantile idea of religion. 
His obedience elevates him into the presence of God. 
Truth becomes so sacred that he would follow it to death 
itself All the virtues come and live in his soul, and give 
him sometimes peace, or if not that, a longing for holi- 
ness which is better than peace. Such a man dwells in 
a new world ; a world in which God, Duty, and Immor- 
tality, not money, reputation, and pleasure, are the reali- 
ties. And think you he cares to be paid for his obedience'? 
Must God give him, in recompense for his virtue, meat 
and drink, and lands and merchandise ? Why, such a 
man, with only one garment and a crust of bread, and no 
place to lay down at night, is more blessed than a king 
that tosses from midnight till morning upon his couch of 
gold and down, his soul full of remorse for crime and 
tyranny ! Virtue is its own reward. He who has it, 
has more than the world can give, — has God, and good 
spirits, and high thoughts, and gentle emotions for his 
companions. And would you punish a sinner by taking 
away his earthly goods ? Poor man, let him keep them ! 
His dead soul must have something to amuse itself with. 
No ; virtue is not to be reverenced for what she brings, in 
this world or the next, but for what she is ; being, her- 
self, the impersonation of the great, good and beautiful. 
Sin is not to be hated for its consequences, but because it is 
sin ; the only essentially vile, weak, and loathsome thing in 
3 



26 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD 



the universe. J esus, then, did not mean, when he spoke the 
words of our text, that God would pay his creatures for 
being like him, by giving them plenty to eat and drink, 
fine clothes, and houses, and people to repeat their 
praises ; or that he would take away fi-om a man, who 
had killed his own soul, the few comforts which the per- 
ishing things of sense can afford him. Far different is the 
economy of the Kingdom of Heaven." 

The leading thought in this passage cannot easily be 
mistaken. '■^ Seek first the kingdom of God and his 
righteousness.'^^ The development of the spiritual fac- 
ulties is the chief purpose of existence. No other 
employment can be compared in importance with it ; and 
every occupation is valuable in proportion as it offers 
facilities for prosecuting this great work. The education 
of the soul is the central /act in hfe, round which all 
others must be arranged ; and until we accept and live 
in this truth, we cannot estimate properly the importance 
of anything. If we give all our energies to the attain- 
ment of an inferior object, we shall certainly exaggerate 
its importance, and underrate the value of other pursuits. 
If we "seek first the kingdom of God," all things will be 
seen in their true relations ; we shall be in a position from 
which we can estimate their comparative value to us as 
means of religious culture. " All things shall be added 
unto you": that is, you shall know the worth of all 
things. Standing at the central point of hfe, you shall 



AND THE WOELD. 



2T 



see how mucli of actual good dwells in every object of 
human pursuit. 

This I conceive to be the meaning of the Saviour. 
Spiritual culture is the central point in existence, the 
chief object of pursuit ; and only when we are heartily 
engaged in it can we understand, and truly be said to 
possess, the things of this life. Let me illustrate this 
truth by facts in the material and spiritual world. There 
is always one central point of observation in a landscape, 
from which its parts instuictively array themselves into a 
beautiful picture. Standing there, the hills, woods, 
water, rocks and plains, lie around in perfect proportions. 
There is a hill in my own town, which is such a point for 
a landscape of many miles. From its top I can see the 
hills beyond, rising, dipping into the valleys, or declining 
into cultivated ground. There are woods enough to 
relieve the eye, and in the distance rise the church spires 
of the several villages, and beyond glitters the blue sea 
line, fading off into the sky. The effect is so complete, and 
the hghts and shadows are so disposed that you cannot 
keep the eye long fixed upon a single point. Each thing 
is so beautifully blended with everything else that you 
are forced to look at the whole. And it appears, as it lies 
outstretched there in a silence broken only by the faint 
sound of wind in the tree-tops and the dashing of waves 
heard at intervals upon the distant beach, to be a crea- 
tion of itself, a little world surrounded by infinity. A 
walk of a few minutes brings me to a place where nothing 



28 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD 



looks right. I see only the bare, rocky outlines of the 
hills, as uninteresting as if they had been torn out of that 
beautiful world and thrown away by themselves. All 
depends upon the true point of observation. 

And so in reading a book, written by a great man. We 
cannot understand it till we have grasped the central 
thought. We must rise to his point of view, before we 
can see the reasonableness or unreasonableness of his 
system. People read the best books, and do not get the 
meaning of the writer. They remember a few detached 
observations and brilliant sentences; but of the idea or 
ideas the work was planned to enforce' they know noth- 
ing. The whole mass lies confused before them. The 
arguments appear insufficient, the illustrations faulty, the 
opinions contradictory to each other and to common 
sense. The usual mode of overcoming this difficulty is 
to say that the author did not know what he meant when 
he wrote it ; or to blame him for writing things incom- 
prehensible to the common mind. A wise man, however, 
is satisfied that the book has a plan, and is willing to 
labor to reach the central thought. He may for a 
while grope in darkness; but at last he gains the point 
whence a light streams forth clearing up all obscurities. 
Then the arguments and the illustrations fall into their 
proper relations, the contradictory opinions reconcile 
themselves by appearing to be only different statements 
of the same truth, and the whole work lies outspread 
before his mind so distinctly that he will never forget it. 



AND THE WOKLD. 



29 



He has only to recall the central thought, and immedi- 
ately everything flashes again upon his memory. Thus, 
in literature, as in nature, there is always one point of 
observation from which other things can be rightly viewed. 

Now, it is precisely thus in life ; and by life I mean the 
union of everything with which we are concerned ; nature, 
literature, art, business, pleasure, physical, mental, sesthe- 
tic and religious culture. And, I repeat, there is one 
central point, and only one, from which we can look out 
upon these, and see them in their proper relations. That 
point of observation is spiritual culture. ' ' Seek first 
the kingdom of God and his righteousness." As soon as 
we devote our best energies to this work, other things fall 
into their proper places. "We know what each is worth 
to us, and how far it is to be pursued. "VYe understand 
the relative importance that business, pleasure and study 
should assume in our plan of living. We can then esti- 
mate character justly. We are not confused or overcome 
by reverses in fortune. All things are in their places, 
and from our mount of spiritual vision we see the vast 
and beautiful domain of life beneath us, the blue sky 
overarching, and the ocean of eternity flowing around it, 
and all encompassed, and filled, and sanctified by the 
infinite providence of God ! 

But away from this central position every portion of 
life is seen in false relations. An inferior object of pur- 
suit is exalted at the expense of every other. It matters 
little Avhat is assumed as the end of existence if its true 
3* 



so 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD 



purpose be forgotten. Some occupations are doubtless 
more elevated than others ; but if they are placed at the 
summit, the disarrangement is almost as complete as if one 
of less importance was there. We cannot depart one step 
from this central point of spiritual culture without con- 
fusing the whole prospect of existence. I will briefly show 
the results of such a departure by one famihar example. 

Take the man who lives principally to gratify the senses, 
the man of pleasure, — there are too many such men ; — 
and although his point of observation is almost as distant 
as can be conceived from that of the Christian, it is yet 
one of the most ordinary that comes to our notice. He 
thinks that pleasure is the "chief end of man." His gos- 
pel practically reads ; — "Seek first the gratification of 
the senses." Of course, other things arrange themselves 
around him in a certain way, for he cannot avoid giving 
some attention to affairs so common as business, study and 
religion. But see how his touch degrades every noble 
and beautiful thing. He sees in the objects and occupa- 
tions around him only that portion which will serve the 
great purpose of his life. If he is emj)loyed in business, 
you cannot think he will be very desirous to sustain the 
honor of his profession. He only is concerned to get out 
of it the money that will foimish his house, and cover his 
table, and fill his cellars, and pay the expenses of his 
pleasures. Thus any degree of meanness can be prac- 
tised at the trade, if it promotes this object. He will 
" stick " at a bargain for a few cents with the poor woman 



AND THE WOELD. 



Bl 



that sells him berries, or washes his clothes, while hun- 
dreds of dollars will be lavished in one night of feasting 
and drunkenness with his friends. He must pinch at one 
end that he may squander at the other ; thus doing all 
he can to degrade the reputation of a respectable calling, 
and driving honest men away from it. If he studies, it is 
not so much for love of the truth, as to pass away an 
hour that might lie heavily upon his hands, or to acquire 
knowledge enough to avoid ridiculous mistakes in good 
society ; and the manner in which he talks about literature 
makes educated men almost ashamed of their learning. 
If he goes to see a work of art, it is not to be elevated by 
the expression beaming from the face and form of a Greek 
Slave or a Virgin Mary, but to talk of it with his 
friends, or, perhaps, to burn with lustful passions before 
that which kindles flames of celestial, love in the soul 
of him who is pure. Woe to the state, if such a man 
gets into office. Justice and Mercy are degraded to the 
rank of waiters upon his table ; and to cram his own life 
with good things, he will see corruption, and disorder, 
and dishonesty, and want, scourging a whole nation. Woe 
to the church, if he stands in the sacred desk, and woe to 
religion, if its honors and preferments are laid upon his 
shoulders. Thereupon arises a scandal against good mor- 
als that sets all the infidel tongues a- wagging ; for love, 
and humility, and disinterestedness are crowded away, and 
the kingdom of God becomes the paradise of Mahomet, 
and amid the flasliing of cups, and the steam of feasts, 



32 



THE KmGDOM OF GOD 



and the glitter of equipage, and the blaze of purple and 
fine linen, religion mournfully goes out of the church, 
and Satan briskly comes in ! Pleasure is the central 
object in his plan of existence, and beauty and sanctity 
and love disappear, and he lives in a faded universe ; 
nature only created to give him corn, and wool, and wine 
— spirit only existing to impart the sense of enjoyment 
to his pampered body. 

Is it possible that such a man can see the world as it 
really is ? Of course, it is not. He sees there only what 
he wants, and he wants only enough to be comfortable. 
His estimate of everything is false. His sensualism 
poisons every judgment he pronounces upon character, and 
every opinion he forms of any subject of human specula- 
tion. This wonderful earthly existence, filled with God, is 
to him only a transient house of entertainment, — a hotel, 
where he can stop and spend a few foolish years between 
the eternity that is past and the eternity that is to come. 

The sensualist finds in all things only what will min- 
ister to his appetites and pleasures. The Christian, out 
of the same things, obtains the materials and occasions for 
spiritual discipline. Where the one sees only meat, and 
drink, and raiment, and the outward embellishments of 
life, the other sees beauty, truth and love. The sensual- 
ist instinctively appropriates the meanest portion of what 
he touches, and gives to every subject its most insignificant 
interpretation ; the Christian, as unconsciously, receives 
only good influences, and explains every appearance by 



AND THE WORLD. 



33 



tlie liglit of a spiritual philosophy. The latter alone com- 
prehends the true value of life in its manifold relations ; 
for he takes from each part that which will aid him in 
the development of his nature. And this is the chief 
worth of things to us ; for, whatever may be the absolute 
value of any creature or opinion, to us it can only be 
estimable according to the instruction and discipline we 
derive from it. Nothing in life is destitute of value, 
nothing so mean or common that a great soul cannot be 
quickened by contact with it. The Christian, standing 
at the centre, discerns this fact, tests the worth of all 
things, and out of them gathers new power. The vulgar 
distinction of sacred and profane no longer holds ; for God 
is everywhere present in his creation, and the hidden 
sources of beauty and joy lie scattered all around the 
believing soul. 

Therefore, when the instructed Christian comes in con- 
tact with life, in any of its forms, it is only to receive 
strength, and reveal the innate worth of that with which 
he deals. If he only makes pins, or plants corn, his busi- 
ness becomes a spiritual discipHne. The trials of patience 
and temper, with which it abounds, are gladly accepted as 
occasions to prove and invigorate his power of resistance 
to little temptations. Every day, in the ordinary course 
of his work, he may practise all the Christian virtues. 
By faithfulness in his labor, by strict honesty in his deal- 
ings, by courtesy and benevolence to those about him, by 
submission to those providential events which we call mis- 



THE KINGDOM OF GOD 



fortunes, and by humility in prosperityj does lie prove Ms 
discipleship, and confer a dignity upon liis trade. Any 
occupation becomes noble after a great and good man lias 
slio^yn what can be made of it. A weak and wicked man 
"will make even theology disreputable ; a strong and 
saintly nature will make the serving of others honorable. 
This meaning the Christian draws out of business, because 
he sees it in its true relation, as a means^ of s|)iritual cul- 
ture. And when he reads, he only obtains good. The 
filth and foohshness through which every cultivated man 
is obliged to wade in the search for ti'uth do not remain 
upon his garments. His pure soul has a repelhng power 
which keeps away harm. That which would set a lower 
nature on fire, only appears loathsome to him. Thus he 
moves through the domain of literature, attracting to him- 
self every good thing ; becoming wiser, and better, and 
more refined from every book he reads. And art has 
none but the holiest revelations for him. In the faces of 
saints and the forms of goddesses he sees glimpses of the 
infinite beauty strugghng to express itself through the 
inspiration of genius. And even his amusement becomes 
sanctified ; for in the joyous unbending of his faculties, 
and the outpouring of innocent mkth, he often feels him- 
self drawing nearer to puiity than in hours of grave pur- 
suits. And his is the prepared soul to which nature sings 
her everlasting anthem, ranging through all tones, from 
the low stir of grass-blades shaken by the wind, to the 
loud breaking of ocean waves against rocks in a tern- 



AND THE WORLD. 



85 



pest. Time and place and circumstance do not enslave 
him ; for if he can see the heavens above, and feel the 
earth beneath, he knows a joy that cannot be told. For 
when the morning sunshine comes into his chamber and 
invites him forth, he goes out into the open air to talk 
with God ; and when high noon has driven every bird 
into the foliage, he sits at his window, and from the 
gleaming landscape come pictures that store his mind for 
sadder and cloudier days ; and when the sun of evening is 
slowly withdrawing, and the blazing clouds, one by one, 
lose their radiant colors amid the gathering shadows, he 
thinks of that good Providence which removes the soul of 
man from its earthly darkness to shine in distant lands. 
So, all his life long, "day unto day uttereth speech, and 
night unto night showeth knowledge." And if the wmld 
is so fortunate as to be served by him in any elevated 
position, it is seen how great are justice and rehgion 
when dispensed by pure hands ; for when he governs, 
obedience becomes the willing tribute of love, and when 
he speaks from the pulpit, the church walls are dedicated 
anew by every word that comes out of his mouth, and 
men who, all the week, have lived away from God, now 
find themselves standing in the presence of virtue, trem- 
bling before her awful rebukings, or melting at her resist- 
less appeals. And though sin cannot be overcome in a 
day, and the world fights hard to hold its slaves in sub- 
jection, yet the power of the Most High is in the word he 
speaks, and it cannot stop till it has gone the circuit of 



S6 THE KINGDOM OF GOD AND THE WORLD. 

the whole earth, and awakened a response in eyerj skm- 
bering soul. 

Thus stands the Christian at the centre of life, and 
around him extend great occasions and pliant materials. 
He has "sought first the kingdom of God and his right- 
eousness, and 'all things have been added unto' him.'' 
Does he not, in truth, possess all things ; he, for whom 
the present has nothing but joy and truth, and the past 
is offering its fruitful experiences ; for whom the mysteri- 
ous future is waiting, full of new reyelations ? He has 
overcome fear, even the great fear of death ; for, when he 
turns his eyes that way, the clouds that veil the spirit- 
land are sometimes rent, and the sweet faces of those who 
are there, look out for a moment tenderly upon him. He 
is above discontent ; for why should there be complaint 
in a life regulated by a Father's love? He lives in 
a consecrated world ; a world from which already the 
forms of sin, and sorrow, and all things unlovely are 
retiring. He doubts not the final harmony of creation 
with its Creator ; and while men of weak faith and cold 
hearts are crazed by the noise and confusion of the 
earthly strife between good and evil, his ear, divinely 
tuned, already catches the distant tones of the song of 
triumph, that increasing, and swelling louder and louder, 
shall at last burst upon the astonished world ; the prelude 
of the great day of love, when a reconciled universe shall 
rejoice with its Creator. 



III. 

HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



*' He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide 
under the shadow of the Almighty." — Ps, 91 : 1. 

Perhaps there never has been a time in the history 
of the human race when it was more necessary to define 
the sources of power in the human soul than now. In 
what does strength of mind consist? Is it found in 
what is called self-reliance, in confidence in our own 
power to overcome obstacles by sheer force of will, unaided 
by others, and unconscious of superhuman assistance ; or 
does it come, as others maintain, from sympathy with our 
fellow-men, and a participation in the life of humanity 7 
Both these opinions are stoutly maintained by persons who 
do not see that each represents a portion of that final 
truth which neither fully comprehends. Independence 
of unnatural restraint, imposed by other minds, is doubt- 
less an important condition of power ; since we are 
weak, and only weak, while compelled to imitate. Yet it 
does not follow that independence from restraint is power. 
It only puts us in a state where we may avail ourselves 

of the strength that comes to us. That strength is not 
4 



S8 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



self-evolved ; and the idea that we can, by simple energy 
of will, hold our spirits np to any elevated point, is one of 
those delusions in which the philosophers and the popu- 
lace meet upon common ground. And equally incorrect 
is the assertion that our strength comes from human sym- 
pathy. This is also an indispensable condition of power. 
We must feel ourselves a part of some other life than our 
own before we can have any confidence in ourselves. But 
individual sympathy or public benevolence only end in 
weakness and w^eariness, unsustained by something entirely 
above and superior to themselves. The true statement is, 
that differently constituted minds, or the same mind in 
different states, depend upon these conditions of self-reli- 
ance and sympathy for the opportunity of successful action. 
One man is strongest alone, and feels his power most 
looking off from his solitary pinnacle of greatness, with no 
disturbing soul along his horizon. Another needs human 
surroundings, the warm clasp of friendly hands, the 
familiar tones of loving voices, to assure his heart and 
nerve his arm. But both these classes of minds, or any 
others that may appear, are finally dependent upon the 
same source of life ; and all the varied forms of human 
constitution and action meet and are reconciled in one 
central fact. 

This fact is grandly announced by the psalmist, in my 
text. " He that dwelleth in the secret place of the 
Most Highy shall abide under the shadoxo of the 
Almighty P The only source of human power is faith in 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



39 



God. All self-reliance, all leaning upon human sym- 
pathy are worthless separated from this. Through what- 
ever avenue v/e would seek energy and life, we are led at 
last to the Omnipotent Creator ; the infinite love, out of 
which we w<ere born, and by which alone we exist. 

In saying that faith in God is the only source of human 
power, I do not mean faith in any theological idea of God, 
in any trinity, or any definite humanized personality. 
God cannot be held in this way in the mind. He is infi- 
nite love, and can be known only as he manifests himself 
in various ways. We do not find God at the end of any 
chain of logic, in any formula of the schools, or in any 
conceivable place ; but we find him everywhere. When 
we repose upon the truth, we have found God. When we 
think ourselves resting upon human love, we are only 
resting upon God, felt through his creatures' affection. 
When we are lifted into a harmonious life by the sight of 
beauty, we are only unconsciously worshipping him who 
is Beauty itself. We cannot labor, or live sincerely any- 
where, -without finding God. He ''besets us behind and 
before;" meets us at every turn of thought, in every 
experience of affection, in every intuition of the imagina- 
tion. To have entire faith in God, is to believe in him as 
the source of all that is great, good, and beautiful ; and 
whenever or wherever we find reality, to cover our faces 
in reverence, as in his presence ; to feel that, however 
other things may conduct us to him, and however suf- 



40 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



ficing they may appear in themselves, they are but the 
modes of communication between the soul and itsr Creator. 

This form of faith is rare, is possible only to an 
instructed and obedient spirit. It is the object and reward 
of life to gain it, and the sa,tisfaction of the soul through 
eternity is only this. The faith of most men does not 
reach as far as this central and reconciling fact. They 
believe, not in God, but in some partial appearance of 
God ; in the power of truth, the worth of human love, the 
sufficiency of beauty, or perhaps they are even below 
this, and may pin their faith upon soi^ie person or scheme 
of benevolence, or tendency of their own mind. Or there 
may be those so unfortunate as not to be able to point to 
anything upon which they really repose. Yet they have 
a secret faith in something, which, unknown to themselves, 
sustains them. If they had not, life in this world would 
become impossible, and insanity or spiritual annihilation 
would follow the departure of the last hope from the 
soul. 

God thus appears through a thousand partial manifesta- 
tions, as if in Eoercy to our weakness, and those who can- 
not at once feel his all-sufficing presence, may climb up 
to him by these ladders he has let down into our mortal 
life. It is true that independence of the interference of 
others is a great step towards entire faith in Him ; and 
so is sympathy with others ; and so are many of those 
states of mind which we call religious. Truth, purity, dis- 
interestedness, all the virtues, are the ways of access 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



41 



to tliis condition, where power and dependence mean the 
same ; where utter reliance upon the Divine love furnishes 
us for the duties, trials, and conflicts of life below, and 
is the prophecy of life increasing forever in power and 
love. 

This fact, that power comes from God, reconciles and 
explains the problem of human action. It makes the 
strength of the Christian comprehensible, and defines the 
energy of the worldly, while it exposes the delusion in 
which they live. The proof of its truth is thus found in 
its ability to account for all the phenomena of power 
appearing among men. 

It explains the strength of the Christian. There is no 
point in his journey towards a good life, where he can 
rest in his own individuahty, or upon his companions. At 
every moment of his progress he is sustained by God. 
Wonderfully does this appear in the great crises of his 
existence, when he is called to make that sacrifice for the 
truth, which, at once, strikes down his pride, and sep- 
arates him from his friends. The martyr, who goes to 
death for the fact which is only a crazy ideal to those who 
lead him there, knows that nothing but Omnipotent 
energy will avail him. Neither the elevation of conscious 
superiority, nor the prophetic assurance of the future 
triumph of his truth, nor the love of dear human souls, 
can give that power by which his spirit looks down those 
writhing surges of fire, and feels, unmoved^ the mortal 
shrivel away from the immortal. In vain would pride 



42 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



encourage, or the future promise, or disciples revere, were 
lie not able then to go out of himself to Him in the 
depths of whose wisdom repose both past and future, and 
who lets no martyr die unattested ; were he not able to 
lift himself from the trembling arms of flesh that would 
fain hold him back, and go near that Almighty One who 
giveth strength without shadow of weakness or fear. Once 
away from himself and his friends, he can behold unmoved 
his own departure, and the fate of the truth for which he 
dies ; for he looks towards God out of this scene of horror, 
and is more the spectator of his own dissolution than any 
whom curiosity, or hatred, or affection have gathered 
around his burning pile. 

And in the same manner is the Christian sustained 
through his every-day life. Think of the battles he fights 
daily, ever renewed ; one set of combatants only giving 
away for another ; conflicts with his own wicked propensi- 
ties, which, routed in one trial, appear in a shape more 
subtle and dangerous, and assail another side of his nature ; 
conflicts with his aspirations, which, if permitted to become 
diseased, are equally dangerous foes to his peace with 
his sins, since they leave him prostrate in the shadow of 
self-accusation ; conflicts with his human affections, which 
coax him away from duty, tease him to unmanly compli- 
ance with custom, for the sake of peace, or through his 
selfishness and love of ease undermine his executive ener- 
gies ; conflicts with the great wicked world outside, which 
roars and beats, like an angry sea, about the little boat in 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE, 



43 



•whicli lie has perilled all his hope. Indeed, Trhen life is 
really seen in its height, and breadth, and depth, the 
thought to do worthily in it, without complete reliance 
upon God, is too foolish for a moment's acceptance. One 
definite purpose may be pursued for a time with a kind 
of self-rehance which appears very like independence of 
man or Deity ; but hfe was not given that we might do 
one great thing, but might be men ; and when the desire 
to do is merged in the higher effort to be, this self-reliance 
dwindles abashed before the mighty destiny of the soul ; 
and it seems as absurd to believe man can alone achieve 
it, as that, by mere force of muscular energy, he can lift 
himself from the ground into the clouds. And we may 
go away from the noise and toil of existence into a quiet 
corner, and gather about us a few kindred souls, and try 
to live alone upon their affection : but we become weaker 
from their caresses, and more inefficient from our intense 
doubting and questioning ; and, at last, tired of such ebb 
and flow, ever returning upon itself, like waves rushing 
into each other with no result but froth and spray, we 
resolve to give all we are to God and his service, and flow 
out from our pent-up selves, like noble rivers from small 
brooks swelling to mighty currents that sweep across con- 
tinents, bordered by fruitful fields, sailed over by crowded 
ships, while sun, moon, and stars, flying clouds and 
spaces of heavenly blue look down upon themselves 
reflected in the tide below. God alone is the Christian's 
source of power ; for the Christian " dwelleth in the secret 



44 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



place of tlie Most High," and abideth under the shadow 
of the Almighty." 

'No one will question that the strength of the Christian 
is from above, in the ordinary or extraordinary periods of 
his life. But it may not be so readily acknowledged that 
the only real power of the worldly man comes from the 
same source ; that, while he thinks himself living upon his 
own resources, or sustained by the sympathy of others, he 
is secretly gaining his vigor of soul from a God he does 
not confess, and a Providence he insults with an impotent 
contempt. 

The man of business and vast executive faculties, who 
holds the reins of many forms of human activity, and 
stands the proud centre of an imposing show of material 
results, is as dependent as the weakest woman upon God ; 
for there are certain conditions of success for him. What 
would become of all those busy hands and those warehouses 
full of merchandise if his mind should lose a little of its 
power of combination and concentration, or his will should 
relax a little from its tension ? The central force of all 
this machinery resides in his intellectual competency to 
manage its springs and overlook its complicated movements. 
And upon how slight a tenure does he hold this power 
of mind. Why, it is even dependent upon an atmospheric 
change that, through his body, may in an hour topple 
down his faculties into utter confusion. And in his 
healthiest moods does he not depend upon conditions of 
action which he cannot overleap 7 This intellect and will 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



45 



of which he boasts, what is to preserve it active, so that 
it keep on responding to his call '? Only one thing, under- 
lying all, a conscious or unconscious love of God. He 
must revere truth, or his every success is only a piling of 
rocks and snow-hanks upon an already tottering glacier 
which impends above him. He must love something, or 
by-and-by he will awake and find himself God and man 
forsaken in a world where material splendor is only a 
shadow thrown from a more splendid humanity. This he 
feels through the innermost places of his soul, and though 
he may not be able to grasp the all-comprehending idea 
of God, or be exactly conscious of what he is doing, he yet 
chngs fast to the Deity in some mode of His existence. He 
is inspired with the desire to work, the secret cause of 
much of the activity in the world ; and, in his worship 
of industry, does not see that he is leaning upon one of 
the everlasting laws of life, and is praising that Maker 
whose being is a constant flowing into new creation. Or 
he prides himself upon his mercantile honor ; and this 
veiled image of honor is nothing but the old truth, which 
is God. Or he is upheld by a vision of years of comfort 
with his beloved ones at the end of his toil ; and, when the 
noise and gibberish and meanness of the exchange disgust 
his very soul, he has but to pause a moment and look out 
over it all into that beautiful land of promise where home, 
and wife, and children, and useful, calm and harmonious 
life call to him to bear up a little longer yet ; — God 
speaking to him through domestic loves, and keeping his 



46 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



keart fresh and undefiled from contact with the soiled 
hands of traffic. It is only our ignorance which banishes 
religion from the market and the tumult of this world's 
activity. Men may unconsciously lean upon their Maker 
while they make their bargains; and while the upper 
spheres of their minds are full of confusion and runnings 
to and fro, one little quiet oratory may remain away off 
out of sight, where they go in and lock the door, and for 
an instant melt with a love and glow with an aspiration 
and trust with a strength which cometh only from one 
place in the universe ; which is the reconciling presence 
of God ; the one thing which saves them from utter wreck ; 
the little spring of hfe, which keeps green and fresh those 
active powers by which so many agencies become the 
servants of their will. 

And more evident does this fact appear, when tested by 
the career and fate of those few men who have been the 
concentration and ideahzation of the worldliness of the 
race ; who have undertaken, with mighty energies, upon a 
world-wide field, to do what so many have failed to accom- 
plish, — live without and in spite of God. Alexander and 
Caesar and Napoleon, — each in different ages, and amid 
different circumstances, — bore testimony to the impotence 
of man fighting against the eternal truth. Each of these 
men had a certain faith in which was hidden the life that 
enabled him to do what he did ; a faith which, at times, 
became a religion and led him to deeds worthy his grand 
endowments. But trying to rely upon sheer force of will, 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



47 



to hold together a conquered race, they all failed more 
signally than ever men failed before or since. The Mace- 
donian left a subject world to fall into disorders more 
awful than those of any other period of history ; the Roman 
could not find his empire were he to return now upon 
the earth; and Europe, that for a while bowed under 
one despot's sword, has now almost forgotten his name. 
All that these men really did was by virtue of their real 
hatred of wrong, barbarism, and tyranny. They did 
break down old wicked nations like avenging angels; but 
the test of power is creation, and neither of this trinity of 
the gods of this world has left one token of his creative 
skill. They stand in history like tall shafts rising above 
a wilderness of ruins. God used their faith to do his 
work of destruction ; and, when that faith was transferred 
to themselves, power dropped away, and they shrunk to 
the wicked, mean, and feeble men they will ever be in the 
catalogue of the benefactors of humanity. 

So it is that in the universe there is but one source of 
power. Alike the strength of the Christian and the stay 
of the worldly, God is where life becomes real and pro- 
ductive, and all its glory and joy are from Him alone. 
Only after we trust in Him can we have faith in ourselves ; 
only leaning down from His supreme love can we dare 
to give ourselves to others. And our life's question is : 
shall we deceive ourselves longer by a vain boast of what 
we are not, and live upon a love we weakly affect to ignore 
and despise ; or shall we take to our hearts this fact of 



48 



HUMAN DEPENDENCE. 



facts, and once for all give ourselves to Him who made 
us and whose we are forever? Here, or elsewhere, this 
question must be decided. Till then, we are only an 
embodied weariness, weakness and confusion. Only in 
the Deity are we great with a strength of love that will 
last forever. 



lY. 



QUENCHINa THE SPIEIT. 

> 

Quench not tlie Spirit." — 1 Thess. 5 : 19. 

There are few written sentences so full of meaning as 
this, addressed to the Thessalonians by Paul. I would 
attempt to explain its meaning, and apply the truth con- 
tained in it to our spiritual wants. 

Quench not the Spirit What are we to under- 
stand by this phrase, "the Spirit"? It is a form of 
expression much in use among theologians and religious 
people, and often introduced in the New Testament ; and 
there are many explanations of it among the seYcral 
Christian sects. Without attempting to question any of 
these theories, I will at once give my own opinion of the 
meaning of the words, and proceed to that practical appli- 
cation which is better than the ablest controversy. 

There has always been a belief among men that the 
human soul sustains an intimate relation to a higher order 
of existence, whose presence and influence are not per- 
ceived by the senses. Men have supposed that, in this 
way, they often receive truth, power, and love ; are warned 
against sin, or encouraged to do well, or punished for 
5 



50 



QUENCHING THE SPIKIT. 



transgression, or comforted in affliction. One proof of tlie 
reality of such influences is that in no other way can a 
large class of spiritual phenomena be accounted for. 
Men are constantly receiving the best mental and moral 
gifts in a way totally inexplicable upon any other suppo- 
sition ; for they cannot explain the facts by anything they 
know of mere human agency and influence ; and the pre- 
tence that the supposition of divine influence exerted over 
the human soul is a freak of the imagination is no ex- 
planation ; for this belief does not belong to a few visionary 
persons. Every human being finds it in his mind, just as 
he finds the belief in his own personal identity, or in the 
existence of God, or the immortality of the soul. Savages 
and ignorant and very depraved people account for it in a 
way which we call superstitious : they suppose themselves 
to be surrounded by spirits, ghosts, and demons, who are 
able to influence their minds. There are some Christian 
believers who think the same thing. Others believe there 
is a separate being, one of the trinity, the " Holy Spirit," 
who is the message-bearer between God and man. And 
even persons in Christian lands, who do not believe in 
Christianity, have the same notion, and are ready to 
show it by accepting various strange theories of spir- 
itual communication from beings in other worlds to the 
inhabitants of this. Thus we find everywhere the same 
opinion. History proves that men have always cherished 
it. Appearing in a thousand shapes, — in the superstitions 
of the vulgar, the mythologies of Pagans, the systems of 



QUENCHINa THE SPIRIT. 



51 



pliilosophers, the intuitions of moralists, and in its highest 
form upon the pages of the New Testament ; there it 
is, a fixed, ineradicable belief of man, so deeply imbedded 
in his consciousness that it cannot be disturbed; the 
belief, that in some direct way a divine influence is ex- 
erted upon the human soul. 

The Christian answer to this mysterious question is, 
that God, our heavenly Father, is always very near the 
spirit of each one of His intelligent creatures ; that He is 
the source of all the truth, power and love we have ; that 
the consciousness of His presence is excited by many 
methods; and that, by obeying certain conditions, men 
can preserve that nearness to Him ; by disobeying, can 
separate themselves from Him. 

God is very near every human soul. In saying this I 
do not limit the nature of the Deity. I only assume that, 
whatever may be the mode of His existence, He has the 
power, and it is His pleasure, to aid us in this way. 
Neither do I say that He is equally near all men. 
The wicked, of their own accord, may go away from His 
presence, and the very ignorant and feeble-minded may 
have only a dim, superstitious idea of His influence. Then 
the power of appreciating the nature and character of God 
depends upon the power and combination of faculties, and 
especially upon the quality of one's moral or spiritual 
being. " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God," says Jesus Christ. When a soul, created in noble 
proportions, lives a sincere and holy life, its sense of tho 



52 



QUENCHING THE SPIEIT. 



presence of the Deity amounts to inspiration. It knows 
more of God and divine things than others, and its words 
form the religious opinions of mankind. Jesus Christ, 
originally created far above men, lived so purely and 
justly that his words and life are our Gospel, and we 
are sure that he knew entirely the truth which he 
affirms. 

It is true, men often forget this fact that God is near 
them. They become selfish, passionate, proud, violent, 
and sensual, and lose their faith in anything except the 
objects perceived by the senses. This is no proof that God 
is away from them ; only that they are so foolish, weak, 
or wicked, that they cannot comprehend His presence. 
But there are many ways by which they are reminded of 
the fact. Perhaps the most usual mode by which very 
bad men are informed of it is by the presence of suffering 
or danger. Such a man, brought near his last hours, or 
in sudden peril of his life, or deprived of something which 
he loved, unconsciously thinks of God and is filled with 
a terrible remorse, as if the eye of Omnipotence were look- 
ing down out of the heavens upon him. Souls of a nobler 
order and in a higher state are otherwise reminded. And 
a truly great and good man is every moment admonished 
of his Father's presence. He feels it in the increasing 
power of his mind, and the remarkable ideas that come 
into it in a manner he cannot explain ; in the quickness of 
his conscience to approve or condemn; in the strange, 
sweet experience of affection, its prophetic hopes and 



QUENCHINa THE SPIRIT. 



63 



longings, its glad assurances, its intense realizations of 
union betAveen soul and soul and spirit and its Creator. 
The life of this man appears to himself filled with evi- 
dences of God's immediate relation to him. Events and 
persons have a peculiar meaning. Nature proclaims the 
same truth, whether, in spring, her hidden forces are at 
work filling the earth and air Avith new sights, and sounds, 
and odors ; or in summer, exulting in the delight of con- 
scious beaut J ; or in autumn, ofiering her plentiful stores 
to man ; or in winter, through cloudy and stormy days 
gathering herself up for a new year's life. So the whole 
outward and inward world reminds this man of its Creator. 
He sees God, not with his bodily eyes, but with the eyes 
of his soul. He lives with God and acts by His direc- 
tion. His existence becomes a prayer ; for whether he 
utters words of supplication and thanksgiving in the 
church or in the closet, or is employed in ordinary busi- 
ness, or sits in his own house with his family, or mingles 
with other men in social intercourse, everywhere he knows 
himself to be accompanied, instructed, warned, and loved 
by that Being whom "the heaven of heavens cannot 
contain," yet who dwelleth in every pure and humble 
heart. 

But this experience is conditional. God is always near 
the soul ; but whether to impart joy, or administer retribu- 
tion, or to remain there unrecognized, depends upon the 
state of the spirit itself For, as the beneficent electric 
power which gives life to nature becomes a thunder 
5* 



54 



QUENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



storm "when the atmosphere is impure, and for a time 
involves heaven and earth and ocean in conflict, that a 
brighter light and a clearer air may come with the new 
daj; so does the Father, who is always near us, and 
nearest when we do not know it, arouse the sluggish and 
sinful soul by terrible awakenings of remorse, by sorrows 
and privations which reveal it to itself and call up latent 
energies to the recovery of its lost nobility. But these 
visitations of the Spirit are not so fearful as the almost 
utter deadness of the heart, which has become insensible 
alike to reproof and inspiration. Against both these clan- 
gers it concerns us to guard ourselves. And this we can 
do by obedience to those conditions which God has ap- 
pointed for securing to us the enjoyment of His favor. 

And the first of the conditions, upon which depends our 
nearness to the Deity, is sincerity. We must have a 
hearty love for the truth in every person and subject and 
in every place. We must love the truth because it is of 
God, and wherever we find it listen to its counsel as if 
God spoke directly to us. And in our search for it we 
must be honest ; must not be swayed by favorite persons, 
or opinions, or made partial by our aflections or ambition. 
We must not trifle with other minds, not dispute with 
them for victory, nor pride ourselves upon overreaching 
them by our own power or subtlety. In dealing with 
other men we should only care to find their truth, and 
increase it by gifts from our own ; not to abuse them by 
making them ashamed of what they have. Every human 



QUENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



55 



soul we should religiously respect, and never permit our- 
selves to invade one of its rights, however exposed it may 
be to the inroads of our more powerful reasoning and force 
of will. And we must not trifle with ourselves ; this is 
our great danger ; not that we cheat others, but cheat our 
own souls out of their best possessions. We have many 
faculties, — some weak, others, the most valuable, are, from 
want of exercise, in subjection to the lower impulses. And 
we must watch this world within. If the strife of polit- 
ical parties upon which the material prosperity of a nation 
depends be a subject of engrossing interest, what shall we 
say of the politics of the soul? There is an "election" 
impending in the heart of each human being upon which 
his happiness and welfare depend far more than upon the 
success or failure of candidates for popular favor. For 
here the strife is not who shall make speeches and vote 
laws a few years in the national capitol, but whether the 
appetites and passions shall dictate to the conscience and 
the reason ; whether the man shall be gaining or losing 
ground in his journey towards excellence ; whether God 
or the devil shall be ruler over the spirit ! How interest- 
ing, above all other objects of human interest, is the 
progress of such a warfare as this ! And who will dare to 
trifle with his conscience, his love of truth, his affections, 
his sense of the beautiful ? Perfect sincerity to others, per- 
fect sincerity to ourselves, brings God near us and keeps 
him near. Then we know the signs of Ilis appearance ; 
then nature lies open even to its innermost and hohest 



66 



QUENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



meaning ; then all that is truthful, good, and beautiful in 
others is unconsciously and instinctively revealed to us ; 
then the books of men of genius and the deeds of saints 
instruct us ; then the words of Jesus reveal new depths of 
a celestial wisdom, and blissful revelations of an ever- 
watchful love. 

Yet even sincerity in thought will hardly secure to us 
these rich possessions without corresponding sincerity and 
purity of life. We may love the truth and see it very 
clearly for a time, and yet lack the heroic will, the patient 
"continuance in well-doing" which makes us one with it 
a,nd with God. Therefore, a second condition of nearness 
to the Father is, that we live up to the light He has given 
us, — at least, never cease trying to be what we most 
admire and revere. The man who lives constantly below 
his conscience, and tries to apologize to it or evade its 
demands, may now and then see heaven as in a vision or 
a dream ; but only he who faces duty, and says he will 
be a true disciple of Jesus, is in heaven. There is a 
holy of holies in the soul where the Father comes down to 
talk with him who is good ; but the key to this sanctuary 
is purity of life. Thus it is that, by sincere thought and 
sincere action, we keep ourselves near "the Spirit," and 
every day receive new accessions of that treasure which 
all noble souls most need and covet. 

But, if it be true that " the Spirit" may, in this man- 
ner, be invited, so is it equally true that it may be 
repulsed, and the soul be consigned to darkness and death. 



QUENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



57 



A man can turn away from God if he will. He has only 
to give free indulgence to his sensual appetites, in their 
usual diseased and clamorous state, let loose his wild, 
unreasonable passions upon himself and others, and live 
in the dreams of a heated fancy, or the reveries of an 
untamed and reckless imagination ; he has only to love 
his own opinions better than the truth, and his own 
ambition better than justice ; to invade the sacred inclo- 
sures of other men's minds to gain amusement or satisfac- 
tion for his own, and purchase present comfort at the 
peril of future exposure and disgrace ; he has only to run 
away from his own conscience, and stop his ears to the 
pleading of his best affections, and shut his eyes upon 
beauty, and avoid the company of good men, and never 
undo the clasped covers of his Bible ; or he has only to 
give up to his own laziness of will, and let the world rush 
in and his business drive out the thought of higher goods, 
and selfish or ambitious men claim him as their friend, and 
use him for their slave, and human interests rush in, like 
a flood-tide, and overflow things divine ; he has only to 
do this, and he may know as little of God as he will. It 
requires a long and determined career of such living to 
entirely banish Him from the thought; for before the 
death of the Spirit its Creator appears often in terrible 
ways of retribution. He comes in upbraidings of the 
conscience, in cloudiness of mind and soreness of heart, 
in sorrows, and privations, and sudden bereavements, and 
Btarthng displays of power and retributive justice. But, 



58 



QUENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



if these are lived througli, — and tliey all can be, — then 
the soul is left more to its own wilfulness^ As a spacious 
and lofty temple, full of windows opening upon wide pros- 
pects, and pictures of saints and rich monumental images, 
■which at mid-day was full of light, as the afternoon wanes 
grows dim, shadow after shadow stealing along the aisles, 
and veiling the faces on the walls, and shrouding the 
statues in the niches and corners, and, when the sun sinks 
over the hills, is given up to the twilight, till at last the 
whole space is pervaded with darkness, only a faint gleam 
along the floor or athwart a pillar telling that the rays of 
the stars contend against the conquering gloom, — so 
departs the light from the soul of him who lives estranged 
from God ; his sun goes down, and shadows fall over him, 
till he has sinned himself away into the cold, dark region 
of death, illumined only by that promise which sends a 
beam of forgiving love even down the darkness of the 
lower worlds, — the eternal hope, that no depth of weak- 
ness and siij can quite extinguish. 

And while we contemplate this dismal picture of a 
ruined soul, what a depth of solemn meaning is revealed 
in the words of the apostle, " Quench not the Spirit 
Turn not away from God ; for what loss can be compared 
to the deprivation of the Divine influence, which is given 
to the pure in heart? What earthly gain compensate for 
that deadness of soul that lives amidst the glories of the 
Creator's presence, and knows it not? 0, my brethren ! 
whatever else you let go, never part with sincerity of 



QrENCHING THE SPIRIT. 



59 



thought and purity of life, for these are the guardians of 
the sanctuary within. Put not off those incentives to 
hohness which revisit you every day of your Hfe ; and 
dare not, as you love the truth and fear the retribution 
that comes hard upon falsehood, dare not trifle with, or 
scoff at, or outrage, your own conscience. Whatever be 
the highest word it speaks, that go and execute ; for your 
soul is pledged, by all its hopes of peace and rectitude, to 
do that. And blessed indeed, as the whole world cannot 
bless, will you be if, living honest and Christian lives, you 
grow nearer to your Father as the years bear you through 
your mortal existence. For, when God is your light, 
your love, your joy and your trust, of whom will you be 
afraid ? 

Be it your lot thus to live, and thus to know the 
Spirit." And may your feeble striving towards perfection 
be accepted, and your weakness and want be enfolded in 
the eternal love, till, glorified bv such communion, you 
grow up into the image of God. 



V. 



THE CONYERSION OF SAUL. 



*' Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? " — Acts 9 : 4. 

These words arrested Saul of Tarsus in his career as 
a persecutor of Christians. Of his previous life we have 
only a few significant hints. We first see him in the 
crowd that thronged the death-place of the martyr 
Stephen. " The witnesses laid down their clothes " at his 
feet, he ''consenting to his death." Then, more enraged 
than ever, he "made havoc of the church," and "yet 
breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disci- 
ples of the Lord," " desired letters to Damascus." "And 
as he journeyed, he came near Damascus ; and suddenly 
there shined round about him a light from heaven ; and he 
fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, 
Saul, why persecutest thou me?" 

These words were spoken in the great crisis of his life, 
for, no longer the persecuting leader, but the terrified sup- 
phant, we hear him cry, " Lord, what wilt thou have me 
to do?" Then, obedient to the Divine guidance, he 
places himself under the protection of those he lately 
«' 

A- 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



61 



"wished to destroy, and, after a three years' retirement, 
comes forth, " Paul, the apostle to the Gentiles." 

Yet, sudden as this change may appear, it was so only 
in appearance. The voice out of heaven spoke at the 
right moment, — when his soul was ready to respond. Who 
can tell what thoughts had been undermining his Jewish 
hatred, even while his rage blazed the most fiercely? 
How must a nature so great as his, driven into persecu- 
tion by a mistaken zeal for his own religion, have shrunk 
from contact with the mean and spiteful bigots associated 
with him ? How must the conduct of those who would 
use his honest zeal to further their base personal ends 
have cooled his enthusiasm ? How could he forbear to 
contrast them with the blameless lives, the heroic endur- 
ance, and the triumphant death of those Christians among 
whom he " made havoc?" And could he ever put away 
from before his eyes that angel-face of Stephen, as he 
"looked up steadfastly into heaven and saw the glory of 
God?" and would not those last words, "Lord Jesus, 
receive my spirit," "Lord, lay not this sin to their 
charge," repeat themselves again and again in his ear ? 
What was that very increase of rage but his restless con- 
science, goading him on to lose in new deeds of violence 
the remembrance of the old ? But all was in vain. No 
sooner shines the great light than he falls to the earth ; 
no sooner rings the summons over his head than he cries, 
"What wilt thou have me to do?" Then, even, the 
work was not completed ; for, after this, came the kind- 
6 



62 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



ness of the Christians, their devotion in saving his life at 
their own peril, and the three years in Arabia ; and even, 
long after this, the sad confessions wrung out of his great 
heart tell us that the foe was not yet entirely conquered. 
His experience on the road to Damascus was only the 
turning point in an eventful life. All that he had done 
before prepared him for it ; his whole future was its con- 
firmation. 

Such an event as this, in the life of any human being, 
is instructive in many ways. But I would only use it 
now to illustrate the fact to which I have already re- 
ferred ; — ^that a crisis in life is never an instantaneous 
' and disconnected occurrence, but the culmination of a long 
series of previous influences, and, if of any worth, must be 
followed by a corresponding series of results. This is not 
the common opinion. Weak people are all their lives 
expecting a wonderful crisis in their fate, coming without, 
previous warning, like a chariot and horses bursting from 
a cloud and bearing them up to the heavens. Their rest- 
less longings are treated as prophecies of such an appear- 
ance. Their duties are neglected, their souls left to the 
teaching of accident, everything great and good lags and 
faints, while they await the miracle of deliverance. But 
to them it never comes. The road of their existence be- 
comes an inclined plane to death ; or, if startling events 
and experiences break the wretched monotony, they are 
unprepared to see their meaning, or accept the lesson they 
would teach to a living soul. The truest crisis comes to 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



63 



a man wlien he is absorbed in the pursuit of great and 
noble ends. Then, as a reward of his faith and persist- 
ence, a sudden light shines around him, and he knows 
where he is to go. And next to this in worth is that 
which recalls a man to his senses, and forces from his lips 
the w^ords, "What wilt thou have me to do?" and sends 
him out, like Saul, repentant, and determined no longer to 
persecute the Lord Jesus Christ. 

(Yet, whether for good or evil, such an event, as far as 
we can see, is only the last of a long series ; and its true 
history would, doubtless, upset that false popular philoso- 
phy which sees only signs and wonders in the world of 
matter, and strange and inexplicable freaks of Divine or 
Demoniacal agencies in human life. In the mental and 
moral experiences of man, and in those outward changes 
which are a type of the inner life, we may see a proof 
of this important fact. 

In the world of the Intellect no great discovery or 
great thought was ever the birth of a moment. True, 
there was a moment when it assumed a form to the con- 
sciousness of the thinker, and often the preceding steps 
have been so imperceptible that he was deceived and sup- 
posed it a thing disconnected from all his former existence. 
But no less true is it that he was led up to it through all 
his previous life. Could we pass into the mind of any of the 
men who have blessed the world by the discovery of new 
truth, we should not wonder so much at the results they 
had accomphshed as at their long and wearisome processes 



64 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



of thought. We should not see a man lying on his elbow, 
dreaming and waiting for a God-sent revelation ; but a 
soul awake and alert in the road of investigation ; an eye 
trained to look steadily at an object, when other men's eye- 
lids fell ; a patience which only grew by discouragement ; 
a love for truth which no brilliant theory could seduce ; 
the whole force of a mighty soul consecrated to one worthy 
object. To such men, — Newton, Copernicus, Columbus, 
■ — when God knows they have waited long enough, and 
earned the right to see new things, — the laws of the 
earth and the universe are revealed. And so in the 
region of the imaginative creation. I doubt not, the vision 
of Cordeha floated into Shakspeare's soul in some mo- 
ment of repose ; but was not all his former life the prepa- 
ration for it 7 How many women must he have known 
as no other man could know them ; how many times 
must he have essayed to catch and imprison the flit- 
ting lights and shadows of their innermost being ; how 
many bad and turbulent passions must he have lived 
down ; how often must his mighty heart have yielded 
to an overmastering tenderness at some wondrous exhibi- 
tion of human devotion ; before his eye caught that ideal 
form which had existed from the creation of the world, wait- 
ing for the birth of a Shakspeare to reveal itself to man- 
kind? And who can tell how long and intensely he toiled, 
consciously or unconsciously, to hold that vanishing loveli- 
ness, and transfer its lineaments, and place around it a 
frame, and behind it a background, in which it might repose 



CONVEESION OE SAUL. 



65 



half seen and half suggested? So is every living creation, 
every fruitful discovery, the gift of God, yet the condi- 
tional gift ; a crown placed on the head of him who by 
natural endowment and long and patient toil may deserve 
it. The miracle is none the less real because it is wrought 
only for the faithful. 

/ No great moral crisis comes without preparation, or 
does its work unless its lesson is accepted and wrought 
into the very texture of existence. How many men and 
women in the world are dissatisfied with themselves and 
their position, longing and praying for some hand to 
lead them up to higher points, where they can breathe 
more freely ! Let all such distrust the hopes and expec- 
tations that are born of their indolence and their unrest. 
If an angel ever comes to them, they must first gird them- 
selves and go out on the road of duty to meet him. Let 
such an one make the most of his present lot ; let him do 
his w^ork without complaint ; try to overcome difficulties, 
not by fier onsets, but by patiently looking them in the 
face. Let him subdue his passion, discipline his imagina- 
tion, turn out of doors, one after another, his wicked lusts 
and selfish and proud desires ; and if. with all this, he 
cannot be cheerful, let him endure his sadness, and still 
work and believe in God. For such an one, a messenger 
has already left the society of the great and good in earth 
or heaven, and now approaches unseen ; and on some day, 
when faith can hold out no longer, from weariness of heart, 
and the sky is one black mass from horizon to horizon, 
6* 



66 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



this faithful one in his darkness shall feel an arm thrown 
around him, and hear at his side a voice sweet and inspir- 
ing, and know that his earthlj or heavenly redeemer has 
come ! Then let him not forget his duty, but, with a 
song of praise upon his lips, bound forward upon the dusty 
road, with alternating talk and work and prayer ; and at 
last along the horizon shall gleam the blue hills, from 
whose peaks, weary with climbing, he may look off, and 
dimly see the forests, and fields, and mountains, and bright 
waters of the kingdom of heaven, and prophets, and saints, 
and the Son of God walking together therein. 

And in the life of nations, which is only a symbol of 
individual life, the same law holds. No great government 
ever sprang from obscurity to sudden power, or fell from 
a healthy prosperity to immediate destruction. The his- 
torians of the world, in their anxiety to make the nations 
live and die dramatically, have neglected the most impor- 
tant portion of historical investigation ; the secret tenden- 
cies that culminate in a kingdom's glory or shame. In 
their pages chance is God of the earth ; a battle turns the 
tide of civilization, the birth or death of one man accel- 
erates or retards for ages the greatest hope of the race ; 
the story of humanity is only a series of crises, with no 
sufficient causes or results. But he who reads history by 
the aid of spiritual laws, soon discovers that he must 
think less of its brilliant points, and more of its general 
and inevitable tendencies. These bright moments of the 
world's life are only the times when the electricity with 



CONVERSION OP SAUL. 



67 



which the social atmosphere is always impregnated 
sparkles an instant on some sharp point. God is always 
in the earth, working so fatally that we forget he is here, 
and call his acts his laws ; and, to rebuke our scepticism, 
now and then he permits us to see a nation spring over its 
last step to glory, or dispels the clouds that veil its final 
plunge to destruction. Yet, inspiring and terrible as are 
these spectacles, they move a deeply religious mind far 
less than the thought that while the social sky is clear, 
and all men at their work, their sleep or their pleasure, 
the nations of the earth are slowly and inevitably ripening 
for a new day of the manifestation of the Divine will. 

Think of the long period of preparation for national 
retribution. A people permits itself to live in the 
indulgence of some great sin, it matters not what ; it may 
be an unholy thirst for gain, or a wicked spirit of con- 
quest, or a contempt for man, shown by holding him in 
bondage, or political dishonesty and corruption, or a dis- 
regard of any of those rules of life which are as imperative 
upon masses as upon individual men. Such a people may 
go on increasing in prosperity, to all outward appearance. 
Their occasional sins, unpunished, may pass into national 
characteristics, and disease become organized into consti- 
tution, and legislation, and manners, and popular habits of 
thinking. In truth, the more fatally the body politic is 
thus affected, the greater is the appearance of energy for 
a time. The power of a whole nation of mistaken or bad 
men will carry along the most unchristian institutions for 



68 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



a time in the very face of God's justice. And men are 
content, because no crisis comes. For tlie reformers call 
down fire from heaven, and the sky remains blue above ; 
the statesmen predict revolution and popular outbreaks, 
and the people keep quietly in their fields or behind their 
counters ; all the prayers and imprecations and prophetic 
head-shakings of priests, and prophets, and social star- 
gazers fail again and again. The Infinite Justice will 
not " bow the heavens and come down'' to shake the earth 
at the call of any convention of respectable delegates. But 
all this time the sin, if not repented of, is slowly conquer- 
ing one portion after another of the social domain. It 
insinuates itself into the brains of statesmen, and confuses 
their perceptions of Christian legislation ; it vitiates the 
first principles of commerce, and honor slowly gives way 
to tact and craft ; it puts a quiet contempt into the con- 
versation of the educated when they talk of generosity, 
and piety, and disinterestedness ; it mocks the idea of a 
noble life from the circles of fashion ; and the populace, 
last of all tainted by it, growls greedy for national success, 
and unscrupulous in its loves and dislikes ; while the 
pulpit now shows its sense of the approaching storm by a 
mad and senseless declamation against public sin, and now 
sinks into the desperation of commonplace, and now vainly 
tries to feed the public, a hungry giant, clamoring for 
food and drink, with spiritual confectionary, and gospel 
meats thinly sandwiched between great loaves of the bread 
of this world. So it goes on, and because no avenging 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



69 



arm is stretched out of heaven, the country rejoices. 
But, at last, in some unexpected moment, a cry is heard 
in the streets, and lo, the nation lies in its death throes. 
No one knows when it sickened, but all knovf it is now 
dying. No longer can repentance avail ; fast-days and 
propitiatory legislation, all as fruitless as a mad resistance 
to Providence now. The hour of doom has come, and, 
exploded into social anarchy, or held fast in the grasp of 
a tyrant, or cast under the feet of the marching armies of 
foreign despotism, the national life passes away forever ! 

V This way of Grod's operation, for which I have now 
been seeking illustrations, is full of meaning for the 
direction of our lives. Half the people in the world are 
putting off living from the cowardly fear or more cow- 
ardly hope of coming crises in their destiny. Men go on 
in sin because they are not arrested by swift retributions ; 
and good-hearted people, and sometimes the best men, 
lose their faith, because the fifth act of the world's drama 
is so long delayed. But this way of thinking and living 
is all wrong, and comes of our unrest and ignorance and 
sin. |We do not move through the spiritual life by leaps, 
but ascend or descend by gradual and easy stages. Now 
and then we gain a hill-top, where a new and wide land- 
scape flashes upon us, or now, round a sharp corner, we 
shudder on the brink of a precipice ; but these occasional 
warnings are but the direction-posts that indicate our 
general tendency. Our only safety is in watching this ; 
in the quiet and sure ordering of every day, in the con- 



70 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



stant subjection of the bad and the constant exaltation of 
the good within us. 

Far worse than any crisis of retributive punishment to 
the guilty man is the thought that he is dying in his sins 
by a slow, unfelt process. It is fearful to wrestle with 
great temptations, or to bow the head when the air is 
darkening with the approaching whirlwind of God's judg- 
ment. But is not that torpor of the soul more dreadful 
which precedes all this ; that imperceptible weakening of 
the will, that daily encroachment of the passions, that 
slow sickening of all the vital powers of the soul, which is 
going on in thousands who live easily and carelessly around 
us 7 Poor men, the true crisis of their hfe was the mo- 
ment when their prayers began to lose their fervor, and 
their arms to weary with holding sin at bay ; not that last 
moment which awaits them far along in the future, per- 
haps on the other side of the grave. Oh ! it is madness 
to live thus, looking up to heaven, with folded arms, for 
the appearance of a portent. "J. zvicked and adulter- 
ous generation seek after a sign.'''' Begin, this day, 
the eternal labor of -rearranging your chaotic life, and be 
content to work uncheered or scared by sudden visitation 
of redeeming or avenging angels. You may not know at 
once that the mountain of your sin is being undermined j 
but have faith, and live up to your present strength, and 
one day it shall be levelled to the plain, and where was 
once its rocky base shall run the highway of the Lord. 

You, too, who have begun to hve as you ought, be not 



CONVERSION OF SAUL. 



71 



disheartened because hours of high communion and per- 
fect peace come so seldom. I doubt whether thej are 
given in this world often to any one who is absorbed in the 
pursuit of a Divine Ideal. Now and then we are per- 
mitted to repose a moment amid our striving, and feel 
within us the rest prepared for those who love God ; but 
this is not the purpose of our living here. And who 
would have it so, since only through tears and toils and 
prayers, coming from the depths of the spirit, does any 
man attain to his best thought and deed? So, let us not 
depend upon these bright sabbath days, and call the 
working-time barren. For better than ecstasy, even bet- 
ter than repose, is that faithful trust which icill not be 
overthrown by all the world can pile upon it ; that unceas- 
ing industry which finds a reward in itself ; that love for 
man which no stupidity, no hatred, no levity, and no con- 
tempt can discourage or turn to indifference ; that love of 
God which envelops with no stoical armor, but offers a 
bare bosom to storms and arrows and rough beatings, and 
smiles from the midst of mortal pains ; and, hardest of all, 
the encounter with daily vexations, and provokings, and 
sinkings of the heart, and alternations of hope and fear, 
and uncertainty, and wearying suspense, with unruffled 
temper and increasing disinterestedness. 0, this is life^ 
my brother, my sister, uncheered though it may be with 
much of perfect comfort or abiding peace. 

Learn, then, the great duty in this earthly portion of 
your immortal existence. It is constantly to do your 



CONVEESION OF SAUL. 



best thing to make life no spectacle where strength is 
reserved only for striking parts, but to do heartily and 
completely what lies now before yon. Then, as you need 
them for warning or encouragement, God will send sharp 
sorrows and startling joys. But let not these detain you 
long ; your business here is not sight-seeing, but action, 
or, it may be, patient waiting when your Father takes 
away the power to act. ^Vhatever of these or other things 
may be sent, fail not to do them. With every morning's 
light gather up the threads of your past, and weave a new 
figure in the eternally unrolling web ; with every even- 
ing's shadow bless God, if you have been good enough, 
that with only the thought of his love you have been 
cheerful and constant another day. So, before and behind 
will the striking incidents of your experience be guarded ; 
great joy will not" upset you, and at a great sorrow you 
will only pause and bow your head in prayer, and then 
through gathering tears look up along the road of duty. 
And your life will at last be gradually lifted into calmer 
regions, where no loud winds blow, and no lightnings 
quiver along the horizon; where the sense of God's 
occasional visitings is lost in the joy of his constant 
presence ; where miracles in the soul cease because exist- 
ence is all miraculous ; and the only change is the free 
and joyous progress from glory to glory. 



VI. 

INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN PHILANTHROPIC 
ACTION. 



^'Now, there are diversities of gifts, but tlie same spirit." — 1 Cor. 
12 : 4. 

It is the boast of the most vital portion of the church 
of our day, that it has realized the second commandment 
of our Lord beyond any previous expression of Chris- 
tianity. Philanthropy — the love of man, founded upon 
his nature and destiny as a child of God and heir of im- 
mortality ; penetrating beneath character and circum- 
stances to his latent ■worth, and infinite capacities and 
possibilities, thus flowing directly from, or being, in truth, 
a part of the love of his Creator — is the central fact in 
the best religious Hfe of the present. And we may 
rejoice at it without invidious comparisons between the 
church of this and former periods, or any desire to revive 
dead forms of faith for the new times. If the intense 
devotion and outward obedience to authority of the Cath- 
olic ages are wanting now, it is not because the faith of 
Christendom has degenerated, but that Christianity, by 
a natural growth in the world, has reached a point of in- 
timate contact with the lives of men. The enthusiasm 
7 



74 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



that once marslialled crusading armies, and built St. 
Peter's, and mnltiplied saints in the cloister and the 
desert, now endows free schools and hospitals, and gathers 
men and women into powerful organizations for the 
reform of the great evils that weigh npon the life of 
humanity ; and there can be little danger that he who thus 
loves and labors for man, because he is the "image of 
God," will forget his dependence upon Him, whose best 
name is " Our Father in heaven/' It does not become 
us, then, to question, but to accept, this new phase of 
Christianity, and to recognize in it the power and love of 
God drawing the race to himself. 

It cannot be denied that this new creed of philanthropy 
is rapidly gathering its disciples within and without the 
visible church. The best mind and heart of the Christian 
world; the highest names in the philosophy, poetry, 
history, eloquence, and practical power of our era, how- 
ever heretical they may be, tested by old weights and 
measures, are orthodox here. And a multitude that no 
man can number are thronging into the new church of 
humanity, clamorous for work, and eager to become, if 
may be, apostles in the regeneration of the earth. This 
somewhat disorderly form of worship is the natural accom- 
paniment of the new birth of a great idea into the world. 
Every epoch in the religious life of the race is, at first, 
the spontaneous outbreak of a controlling sentiment from 
a million hearts, — a spiritual freshet, sweeping away the 
embankments and enclosures of conventionalism, and rol- 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 



T5 



ling on wifn a fury that makes good people fear tlie great 
globe is afloat. But we must not suppose that this is to 
be a permanent state, or that the grand idea of philan- 
thropy is to be realized through this spontaneous indigna- 
tion against wrong, and the instinctive effort towards the 
right. God does not save the world by the acclamation 
of the saints, or the cheers of the people. This holy fury 
must get itself under the restraints of law ; these wide- 
swelling waters of sentiment must subside, and run in the 
channels laid for them from " before the foundation of the 
world." For there is a law and a method, not invented 
by man, but imposed by God, which directs and limits 
things natural and spiritual. The light does not shine out 
of a blazing firmament, but from one glowing orb, poised 
at the centre of the solar system. The ocean obeys its 
tides and bounds, and the winds blow obedient to a com- 
mand as firm as fate. So must this awakened moral 
fervor of humanity find out the methods appointed by the 
Almighty for its manifestation, or it will only spend itself 
in undirected enthusiasm. 

Our first duty, then, — having accepted this fact of 
philanthropy, and felt within our souls that deep, con- 
stant, reverent love for man, which alone constitutes dis- 
cipleship in the church of humanity, — is to comprehend 
the natural law of benevolence, — to learn by what mental 
and moral discipline, in what varieties of position, and 
by what modes of application, it may become a palpable 
fkct in the every-day life of mankind. Let me now 



76 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



attempt, in obedience to this obligation, to state and illus- 
trate, not tbe whole method of philanthropy, for that is, 
hj no means, a work for a half-hour's discourse, but one 
of the laws, by obedience to which the spirit of love to 
man may reach its legitimate practical results. The law 
I have selected as the subject of my present consideration 
is, Individual Limitations in Philanthropic Action. 

The apostle Paul, in the words I have quoted for. a 
text, has given a concise statement of this law. Noio 
there are diversities of gifts ^ but the same spirit.''^ 
The spirit of philanthropy cannot be appropriated by any 
sect, or hidden in any corner of the social world, or 
engrossed by any special form of benevolent action. It 
is as deep and wide as humanity itself, and its field of 
action is as extensive as human nature and life, and broad 
enough to enlist energies of every variety and degree of 
intensity. One spirit, eyeryv/here present, it will gladly 
accept and enfold all men in its generous embrace. And 
equally true is it that there are "diversities of gifts" 
among men. TTiere are varieties in quantity of being; 
for there are large souls and small souls, as certainly as 
oceans and lakes in the physical creation. There are dif- 
ferences of temperament, by which the force of nature and 
availability of latent power are tested. There are diversi- 
ties of endowment, a peculiar mixing of faculties in each 
man, which separates him forever and fatally from others. 
And there are differences of culture, which often become 
so implicated with natural peculiarities that they amount 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 



7T 



to the same in a practical estimate of character. And 
when we add to these the diversity of position and oppor- 
tunity, we must confess that each spirit lives in a world 
of its own, as truly as if there were a globe built for its 
especial convenience. These two facts are to be recon- 
ciled. How shall this " diversity of gifts " be adjusted to 
the one spirit" of philanthropy? How shall a man 
know what he is to do as a practical disciple in the church 
of humanity ? 

Obviously there must be some limitation to individual 
action in a field so vast as philanthropy. The man who 
sees most accurately the whole need of humanity, will not 
attempt to minister to all its wants. Actual famiharity 
with society as it is dissipates those dreams of an all- 
embracing benevolence which charm us in retirement. 'No 
man is wise, strong, and good enough to hold the whole 
moral world, with all its complex relations, in his mind. 
Concentration of effort is a necessity of human nature, 
which has never yet been successfully avoided. 

This fact being received, that we can do but a few 
things, the guide to our selection of points for the exer- 
cise of activity must be our gift. It may not be pos- 
sible to know why the peculiar mental constitution was 
given us which makes us what we are ; but one purpose 
of it doubtless is, to qualify us to do special things for the 
glory of God. The varied work of philanthropy offers a 
spot suited to each of these peculiar forms of human 
nature; and he who has the skill to discover his own ap- 
7* 



78 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



propriate situation is inexcusable if lie neglect the oppor- 
tunity it offers for service in the cause of truth. We 
must do what we can^ not what our- fancy or ambition 
would suggest. Looking calmly over the infinite extent 
of moral obligation, we must at last concentrate our power 
upon that enterprise for which we are best endowed and 
circumstanced, and " what our hands find to do" there, 
do with all our might." 

This course of duty is relieved from obscurity when we 
understand that it offers, not only the most desirable, but 
the only possible mode of successful action. We must 
either do that for which we are qualified, or waste our 
power. Tor nothing stands in the moral world which is 
not well done. Every enterprise mismanaged, every 
reform badly conducted, must be undone, and await the 
coming of the true laborer. There may be a few men in 
the world capable of great versatility of action, but they 
are exceptions to the mass of mankind. Most of us can 
only do well in a narrow sphere. Then our labor is effi- 
cient, and every blow falls upon its own place. Outside 
this circle we work by chance. A series of fortunate 
accidents may, for a time, avert the inevitable result, but 
failure must be at the end. Thus does God direct our 
position by the leading of our gift; and, if we wilfully 
oppose His will, bring our work to nought. 

The thing we can do well is, therefore, ours ; and the 
conditions of well doing are, that we work in a spirit of 
truth and love. Truth commands us to know our own 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 



79 



ability and the facts of the enterprise we undertake. 
While in ignorance of ourselves, or of what we would do, 
we cannot act. Were this fact observed, there would be 
more efficient labor in the world than now. Men are too 
impatient, too full of conceit or ambition, to look calmly 
upon the facts of the position they aspire to fill. But they 
learn at last that only what is done intelligently can 
endure. Love demands that we keep ourselves disinter- 
ested, sweet and pure in our work, — that we speak and 
act with reverence towards God, and respect to the rights 
of our fellow-men, and never permit our passions to inter- 
pret or confuse the eternal laws of the moral universe. 
It commands us to labor only where we can preserve this 
tone of feeling, and to avoid every situation where temp- 
tations are too strong for our power of resistance ; assur- 
ing us that what is not done in the spirit of a love greater 
than the human infirmity it would reform, will fail. By 
these conditions, then, we may know when we are doing 
Gocf's work. If we are clear in our perception of the 
most important facts in our sphere of action, and are con- 
scious of the ability to meet its demands, and can grow up 
within it to a manhood constantly increasing in power, 
beauty and love, then we are at home; otherwise, our 
place of service is yet to be sought. 

I know there is a diseased feeling of obligation in many 
sincere men, which would deny the truth of this doctrine. 
It is said that evil must be expelled from the world; 
and, while so many neglect their duty, it becomes imper- 



80 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



ative upon good men to assume labor for whicli they are 
not specially qualified. It is true, tlie wickedness of half 
the race does confuse and somewhat alter the work of the 
rest ; but it cannot essentially change the laws of duty. 
I must do what I can, because I am able to do only this 
well. If my neighbor leaves his work undone, I may 
regret it, may pray to God to put a spirit of obedience 
into his soul, may persuade him to mend his ways, or 
encourage another, more competent, to take his place; 
but if I leave my duty to do his, or assume his in addition 
to mine, I only fail to accomplish my own, and leave his 
half done. It is a great affliction for me to see a thousand 
fields "whitening for the harvest" while their reapers 
are asleep ; but that sorrow must be borne, and mj own 
sheaves bound and gathered in. Then something ^11 be 
accomplished, however little, which is better than a great 
attempt ending in nothing. We all need more faith in 
God in view of the needs of humanity. It is only an 
assumption of His prerogative to regard myself respon- 
sible for all the evil in the world. I was made to glorify 
Him by a generous, efficient service, based upon my gifts 
and conditioned by truth and love, — not to oversee the 
moral universe. He kuows the wants of his own crea- 
tures, and, if I am faithful, will in his own way avert the 
peril or injury that comes through the indolence of my faith- 
less brother. His claim upon me is for this use of my gift. 
In this service I may joyfully enlist, may feel assured of 
His great blessing, may continue faithful, even unto death. 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTI03T. 



81 



Witllin my own sphere I am a prophet to the world. 
Upon the summit of my own mount of vision I may 
stand, and blow a strong, clear, sweet blast, to cheer 
and warn the people below ; but when I get up into the 
region of clouds and whirlwinds, where I am upset and 
drenched and Winded, and can only writhe upon the 
ground, and shriek a few wild notes of agony and wrath 
into my trumpet, scaring or angering all who hear, then 
the first service I can render to God is, to come down. 
My gift, used faithfully according to the laws of truth 
and love, must be my guide. The work to which it points 
is mine, and no one else can do it so well as I, and woe to 
me if I do it not. The rest of the universe remains in 
the hands of Him whose tender mercies are over all his 
works." 

This truth, which has now been stated, is not only in 
accordance with reason, but also sustained by acquaintance 
with human character in its practical relations to philan- 
thropic action. Whether we regard the lowest order of 
gifts and the humblest class of opportunities, or the en- 
dowment and position of the noblest men, we find room, 
in the wide region of benevolence, for the peculiar exercise 
of every variety of faculty. — There are persons who, in 
the present social condition, seem destined to spend life in 
the simplest kinds of manual labor. Whatever might 
have been their prospects in more favorable circumstances, 
they now lack the sagacity and energy to maintain them- 
selves in independent situations. It may be thought that 



82 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



this class can have little part in active philanthropy. Yet^ 
•when we remember that this spirit is love to man, we 
must change our opinion. For the ser\dce rendered by 
those who labor for others with their hands, is most inti- 
mately connected with human happiness, even with the 
highest spiritual welfare of man. However distasteful to 
a sentimental pietism it may be, it is true that humanity 
has a great clamorous body to be appeased before its soul 
can be moved ; and so intimately related to its highest de- 
votional aspirations are its lowest animal needs, that the 
neglect of the latter may quite suspend the former. Who, 
then, will say that he whose duty is only to minister to 
the body and the earthly parts of life cannot be a philan- 
thropist 1 If his faithful care is withdrawn, and man is 
left naked, houseless, hungry, or vexed with myriad-sided 
domestic inconvenience, what becomes of literature, and 
arts, and senates, and churches, and civilization 7 His 
truth and love, in his own position, are felt all the way up 
through the highest interests of the soul ; and his failure 
"tells" upon the laws that govern, or the poems and 
prayers that inspire his fellow-men. He needs not greater 
opportunity, but a larger appreciation of the spirit of 
love, to vindicate his claim to worthy discipleship. Who 
of you cannot remember some faithful, loving man or 
woman, who in this station of life has become so associated 
with your best recollections, and so necessary to your 
peace of mind, that only God knows how much that is 
purest and best in your nature has been developed by the 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 



83 



relation 7 If tlie woman who goes in her carriage to give 
bread to a sick and destitute family, claims the title of 
benevolent, does not she who shields her from the thou- 
sand modes of suffering and annoyance which an ever- 
watchful simple-hearted love can avert, deserve them too 'I 
Even from this class does philanthropy enroll her disciples, 
and achieve some of her most powerful, though unobtru- 
sive conquests. — And when we rise into the region of the 
various trades and professions, we find enlarged opportu- 
nities for the manifestation of the spirit of love to man. 
Each of these professions is so interwoven with life's dear- 
est interests, involves such varied discipline of mind and 
heart for its successful pursuit, is capable of such expan- 
sion, and is on every side so environed by spiritual things, 
that the largest philanthropy may despair to fill the chan- 
nels it offers for conveying the life of a generous soul to 
the Avorld. Will that merchant who holds the threads that 
run all over the world and through human nature ; whose 
ships bear to heathen and barbarians, crews and cargoes 
that may either become ministers of blessing or cursing, 
or bring home the styles of dress, manners, thought and 
civilization, from polished races ; whose success is the suc- 
cess of others of his fellow-men ; whose hopes, not only 
of living, but of mental and moral life, are entangled in 
the issue of his enterprises; whose tone of thought is 
felt in the church, lifting up or pulling down prophets, 
and in the halls of state, animating or scaring statesmen, 
— will he complain that no opportunity is offered him for 



84 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



showing his love to man ? Put a great, good heart into 
his bosonij and see how every agent of his business 
becomes a missionary to preach ''good- will to men." 
Place there a little, crafty, selfish soul, and see how 
commerce dwindles into the thin ghost of its nobler self. 
Humanity does not ask of him to make speeches, or run 
about to conventions, or lecture society at the street- 
crossings ; but to feed this glowing inner flame of love to 
man, and act, silently and decisively, everywhere from its 
controlling inspiration. — For there are those who, if true 
to their gift and opportunity, will do the more visible and 
special work of benevolence, — those to whom mere hand- 
labor is but a poor drudgery, and whose heads would be 
in a cloud before noon upon exchange, yet whose minds 
clear up, whose hearts beat a full and joyous tune, and 
whose hands and feet have wings at the spectacle of sor- 
row and destitution ; whose natures dilate to angelic pro- 
portions in those narrow lanes and dark hovels where 
crime, and poverty, and suffering hold their appalling rule. 
And when these good souls leave our houses to carry 
God's light into realms of darkness, shall we hold them 
back, or weakly complain that the flame of their zeal was 
not employed to illuminate our drawing-rooms, and burn 
out in amateur exhibitions to relieve domestic ennui, or 
fill the poet's corner of a public religious journal ? — And, 
now and then, not so often as some men think, but as 
often as humanity demands, one appears whose eyes look 
through us and our household walls, through the church- 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 85 

door, and into the heart of the preacher in the pulpit — 
through institutions, and professions, and laws, and states- 
men, and the complex life of nations ; who has lived out 
common experiences with an intensity and rapidity we can 
hardly conceive — lived through and beyond their com- 
mon import; before whose fatal glance the errors, and 
weaknesses, and sins of men lie outspread like an open 
picture ; whose brain is strong enough to think steadily, 
with all the ghastly and maddening sights, and all the 
groans, and shrieks, and prayers of wronged humanity 
blazing before his eyes, and ringing in his ears ; and whose 
deep, calm love abides at the centre of his soul, though 
waves of indignation, and hope, and fear, and passion beat 
against it ; who can • speak a few simple words that make 
us red with shame or pale with fear ; can even cite a 
nation to a court in which he is sole advocate, jury and 
judge. Such a spirit does God now and then send into 
the world — the true reformer — who, leaving other men 
to make bread, and buy and sell, and feed the hungry, and 
console the mourners, tells us what we lack, and proclaims 
God's eternal law to the dull ears of a faithless world. 
And when he comes, we can well do but one thing — 
''repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand !" Yfe 
may neglect him, but thenceforth we shall become meaner 
men ; we may scoff at him, but our curses will burn our 
own lips ; we may run away from him, but he will see us 
skulking in China or Siberia ; we may break his heart by 
our obstinacy, or kill him in our wrath, but after we have 
8- 



86 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS IN 



laid him in tlie new tomb, and blocked the door with a 
great stone, and set a watch, and gone to sleep, angels 
will roll awaj the rock, and the dead will come forth to 
live forever ! Yes, the power of omnipotence is in this 
man, and to withstand him is to fight against God ! — Then 
above him d^yells the saint and poet, who, wrapped in 
contemplation of the infinite beauty and love, can only 
talk in sweet rhythmic words, that come floating down into 
this noisy world to become a possession for the genera- 
tions. Him we must leave to his devotions and his 
visions, and believe that man is better served by his 
inspired prayer and song than if he were toiling and wear- 
ing out his sacred life with us in the tumult of e very-day 
existence. Thus does every phase of character and 
position demonstrate the truth of the great apostle's words, 
— Now there are diversities of gifts ^ hut the same 
spirit and we may see a whole generation, each soul, 
within its own enclosure, busy with an activity flowing 
from, and returning to the love of man. 

But, how can this great work be done while men, as 
now, overlook these individual limitations, and confuse 
everything by ignorant or perverse abuse of their special 
gifts? When a man, whose great animal nature and 
uncontrollable restlessness point like a destiny towards 
California placers and unhoAvn western forests, thinks 
himself called to summon men and communities to spirit- 
ual newness of life, who can wonder that the outpouring 
of his ignorant and half-savage indignation against evils 



PHILANTHROPIC ACTION. 



87 



of which he knows little, and men he does not know at all, 
should exasperate the bad and fill the good with sorrow ? 
When the clear mind and large executive powers and 
generous enterprise of one who might confer a new lustre 
on a favorite active profession, is sequestered in a pulpit to 
mediate between man and God ; or the woman whose soul 
would grow up into new breadth and power and sweetness 
as a sister of public charity, must lie groaning under 
mountains of petty household cares ; or the true reformer 
and saint are placed where every duty contradicts every 
natural impulse ; is it strange that philanthropy becomes 
only another name for confusion and ill-directed enthu- 
siasm, and men are puzzled to understand whether this 
new doctrine "is from heaven or of men"? We must 
learn the law of benevolence, and labor according to our 
gifts, or no miracle will be wrought for us, though the 
compensating goodness of God will raise up powers 
against us. And w^e must let our brother do the same. 
Let us make proselytes to the spirit of philanthropy, but 
not seek to multiply images of ourself all over the earth. 
Especially, let us not visit with unkind and harsh or 
ignorant censure him who, out of the love of man, acts as 
he feels and knows to be best for that humanity which is 
greater than we or our plans, greater than any sin or 
hope of the race, and which forgets no word well spoken 
or deed well done in her service. 

For, after our wisdom has exhausted itself, we may all 
be glad to go back to the apostle, and listen to his dis- 



88 



INDIVIDUAL LIMITATIONS. 



course upon tlie gifts and graces of the Christian life. 
And we may be assured that this gospel of philanthropy 
will become " good news" to men only when it is believed 
and lived as he interprets it. One spirit of love, flowing 
through numberless forms of character, life and action — a 
thousand men, neither jostling nor envying nor hating 
each other, receiving and imparting according to the 
measure of gifts enjoyed — this is that church for which 
Paul could find no symbol so apt as the body of Christ — 
that perfect human form, the temple of the matchless soul 
that dwells therein. Pray God, my brethren, that you, 
led by his wisdom and upheld by his grace, may become 
true members of this church of the present, which, sanc- 
tified by devotion and enduring faith, and made a living 
thing by vital love to men, shall gather into its fold the 
good of every land, and offer unto its Lord the adoration 
of a regenerate world. 



VII. 



TEN KiaHTEOUS MEN. 



** And He said, I will not destroy it for ten's sake." — Gen. 18 : 82. 

The author of the book of Genesis, while relating the 
storj of the destruction of Sodom, introduces a conversa- 
tion between ibraham and the Deity. The patriarch, 
aware of the Divine intention respecting the devoted city, 
entreats that it may be spared for sake of the righteous 
men within its walls. The Lord says, in the words of 
my text, " I will not destroy it for ten's sake." But even 
ten righteous men could not be found in Sodom ; and when 
Lot, directed by the angels, had turned his back upon the 
wicked city, and entered a place of refuge, the Lord over- 
whelmed the whole region by a storm of fire out of heaven. 

It is not my purpose noAv to inquire how much of this 
narrative may be historically correct; or, whether the 
Invisible One did really hold converse with Abraham, as 
is here described, on the plains of Mamre. If the account 
be, as some say. only an unauthorized legend, it still con- 
tains a truth deeper than that of the adherence to mere 
historical accuracy. The man who wrote that the Lord 
promised to spare the wicked Sodom for the sake of tea 
8* 



90 



TEN EIGHTEOUS MEN. 



righteous men, gave the world a very profound thought, 
and unconsciously anticipated a great truth of Chris- 
tianity. 

Tor why should that corrupt city be spared for the sake 
of ten righteous men? They could have been drawn 
away from it, as was Lot, leaving the remainder of the 
people to their fate. Only for one reason can we conceive 
that such a thing should be promised. It were yet worth 
the while to attempt the regeneration even of Sodom, and 
ten thoroughly righteous men could have done it. But 
Lot, standing alone in the midst of that tide of iniquity, 
could only protest against and then be destroyed by it. So 
it was that Sodom might be regenerated, that God prom- 
ised to spare it for the sake of ten righteous men. 

Does it seem a thing incredible that a number of persons 
so small should produce such a mighty result ? Perhaps it 
is inconceivable to one who has never seriously contem- 
plated the wonderful power there is in greatness and 
purity of character. But to him who knows, it seems a 
very natural thing. Indeed, to him a little band of ten 
righteous men appears to be a gi^eater spiritual force than 
a whole Sodom full of transgressors. 

Perhaps we shall be able to understand this truth better 
if we consider the power which one true soul — man or 
woman — may wield over ourselves. Those of us who know 
that we are nearer a good life now than once, can doubt- 
less recall a few of the steps by which we came up from a 
state of carelessness, and uncertainty, and sorrow, to our 



TEN RIGHTEOUS MEN. 



91 



present comparatively hopeful, decided, and fixed position. 
Can we not reproduce that old state of feeling when life 
seemed "all afloat," — an ocean full of drifting continents 
and islands around us, — when we lived from day to day 
upon the pleasure, the excitement or the news of the hour ; 
our spirits overcast if a cloud crossed the sun ; our hopes 
prostrated before any obstacle ; our activity only feverish, 
more like the action of a mad than a sane man 1 0, the 
long waste of weariness the future offered us ; the sighings 
for by-gone delights, or the unhealthy anticipations of 
strange good by some miracle to be showered over us by and 
by ! But, while in this sad condition, a person crossed our 
path that we knew, by unmistakable signs, had something 
for us. ^Y e met ; and, after sufficient time had elapsed to 
brush away the formalism of a new acquaintance, began 
to discover what he was to be to us. A righteous man, 
we knew he was from the first ; not because he told us so, 
but that our souls in his presence unconsciously assumed 
a reverent attitude. In his person, and conversation, and 
life, we felt the majesty of great principles, and the love- 
liness of a true and holy existence. We first did homage 
to this. Our carelessness was arrested; our uncertainty 
found here a rock in the rolling sea ; we felt that stabihty 
and beauty, and order did exist ; and even our thought- 
less hearts learned to worship. But, ere long, reverence 
failed to satisfy us. We longed to be a part of that truth 
and love ; and he, our new friend, was our mediator. In 
his presence we began to speak of hopes of which no one 



92 



TEN KIGHTEOUS MEN. 



else had ever heard ns talk. Aspirations for excellence, 
that once seemed like beautiful colored clouds afar off in the 
sunset sky, now came fluttering down before us like strange 
birds with bright plumage. Feelings, of whose dehcacy 
we were always ashamed, now got themselves utterance in 
some hour of calm and tender conversation; and grad- 
ually one new faculty after another was tempted out of 
its hiding-place into his sunshine, until we were astonished 
to find that, in his company, we had been transported to 
an enchanted land of great purposes, and gentle affections, 
and the reverent contemplation of noble and good things. 
0, who does not delight to recall that time when the 
glories of the heavenly life broke upon his eyes ! — when 
one wreath of mist after another dissolving in the sunlight, 
and cloud after cloud melting into the sky, suddenly ap- 
peared a " new heaven and a new earth," and, in its 
gleaming plains, and blue peaks, and still waters, and 
infinite azure, we saw a type of our life. Yet, only for 
our inspiration was that grand vision unrolled. Then 
came the disheartening thought of what we were ; then, 
when we tried to go over and possess our heritage, our 
strength failed, and we turned back into the desert of 
our old wandering. Then, first, did we know the worth 
of this man, our friend; for, when we should have 
sunk down, tired and hopeless, his was the arm that held 
us up, — now pushing, now leading carefully, now beckon- 
ing from a point above ; and his was the voice, ranging 
through all tones, that called us onward, — now rebuk- 



TEN RIGHTEOUS MEN. 



93 



ing so sternlj that, in very fear, we ran forward ; now 
singing at our side, as the sun grew hot and the way 
became dusty ; now, with a sound like a burst of martial 
instruments, rousing all the man in our souls ; and now, 
like the swelling and soaring of an organ harmony, lifting 
our tired spirits up to a moment of beatitude before the 
face of God. So all along in our perilous journey has he 
been with us ; in our mirth and our grief; praying with 
us, and reading and interpreting life at our side ; and here 
we are now, not very good yet ; for, since that first day 
of revelation, our prospect has widened, and our ideal 
become infinite; yet how difierent from what we once 
were ! Our faces now set towards heaven, our powers all 
awake, and our lives newly consecrated every day ; our 
sorrow now only for our failure and sin; our faith, in 
our better moments, too firm to be washed away by any 
mortal surge of conflict or trial; — all this, through God, 
has one righteous man done for us. And what work can 
be compared, in grandeur and permanence, to this regen- 
eration of our careless, uncertain and sorrowful nature ? 

But not to us alone was confined the result of this 
righteous man's labor. We, in turn, became mediators to 
souls beneath our own. As we rose from step to step of 
excellence, we moved other men more powerfully. The 
very effort to rid ourselves of sin aroused the sleeping 
energy of our neighbor ; our rejoicing over victory gave 
him a new conception of happiness ; our penitence awoke 
Strange feelings of humiliation in his heart ; and every 



94: 



TEN RIGHTEOUS MEN. 



phase of our spiritual advancement was, in some way, re- 
sponded to by him. And not to one, but to many, did we 
thus mediate. Some there were too far off to be strongly 
moved by our attractions, but even they respected truth 
and virtue the more because of their conviction of our 
integrity. And as men came nearer us in temperament, 
and age, and those thousand indescribable resemblances 
which constitute friendship, the power increased ; while 
one or two, who were close alongside our heart, felt its 
every pulsation for good, and followed our leading, proud 
and happy to be the companions of our great enterprise. 
So, unconsciously, while we thought ourselves only striv- 
ing to reach the ideal to which our instructor was pointing, 
we were giving the bread and water of life to many around 
us. And they, in turn, must become mediators and dis- 
pensers of goodness ; and so the impulse awakened by this 
good man has flowed on like a noble river, widening and 
putting out arms, and receiving tributary streams, till a 
whole region is bound together, and made blooming and 
fruitful by its life-giving waves. 

All this can one man do. What, then, shall I say of 
" ten righteous men " ? Only this, that individual efforts, 
however powerful, would, perhaps, never entirely reform 
the world. True, a single soul can be greatly moved but 
by one soul. It has a strange fear of committees and 
associations. It cannot consent to be arraigned before the 
public tribunal in regard to its deepest errors, neither will 
it willingly receive from any society for the propagation 



TEN RIGHTEOUS MEN. 



95 



of virtue, the help which it craves from its own friend. 
But, when we come into the sphere of pubhc evil, a new 
element is encountered. There we find sin organized, 
manj-sided, built up hj the weakness and wickedness of a 
hundred generations ; and thus holding communities in 
its power, many of whose citizens are individually far 
above it. Against such fearful odds, it is hardly possible 
that one man, laboring, of course, in a peculiar and cir- 
cumscribed manner, should prevail. Lot could never have 
regenerated Sodom alone, for there sin had taken an out- 
ward form, had become mechanical and destitute of con- 
science ; indeed, as now, men of the world scarcely were 
able in public places to distinguish it from virtue, or that 
low expediency which is thought by many to be virtue's 
twin-sister. 

Such colossal wrong can only be overthrown by the 
combined efforts of the good. ''Ten righteous men" 
must unite, and bring their varied energies to the work ; 
come up to the attack from different points, and employ 
every method consistent with goodness to overcome the 
great adversary. By their patient and varied effort at 
last is found that wonderful thing, an elevated public 
opinion; and what cannot this do? To me, nothing so 
clearly attests the presence of God in the world as the 
miracles of power accomphshed by a christianized public 
sentiment. It is intangible ; we cannot understand it by 
computing the separate forces of which it is composed ; 
we have no rules in the books on poHties for its manufac- 



96 



TEX RIGHTEOUS MEN. 



ture ; but let a number of strong and pure-minded men 
take each other by the hand, and say, "Now, God help 
us to do this good work and, while they are doing their 
best, there appears abroad in the community something 
before which sin hides its head, and the lips of her hire- 
ling orators become pale, as the accustomed eloquence 
refuses to come at their call ; and bad men skulk away 
into corners to do their deeds of villany ; and everything 
impure and sophistical fears to walk the streets, lest around 
some corner it should come suddenly upon the full, calm 
eyes and majestic presence of its hated foe and judge ! 
This is God abroad in the world, assisting the feeble striv- 
ings of his anxious and obedient children. 
- And what becomes of Sodom, when goodness in this 
way gets organized, and assumes a grand form, and walks 
the streets, now with mild glances, and now with God's 
lightning flaming from its eyes ? No storm of fire out of 
heaven is then needed to purge the very ground on which 
it stood ; but another fire is kindled there which restores 
while it consumes, burning the sin out of the innermost 
souls of violent men ; warming the hearts of the cold ; and 
playing in a crown around the heads of the great and 
good. Thus, in spite of obstacles, does the work of re- 
generation go on, till no one can despair, even of this 
most corrupt place under heaven. 

This was the lesson, written in letters of flame by that 
burning city in the old time; that it fell because united 
effort was not to be had"within its walls for the cause of 



TEN EIGHTEOUS MEN. 97 

God. A warning to us, wlio may know, if we will, that 
only vrhen we consent to grasp our brother's hand, and 
pray and strive with him, can we hope to beat down those 
hideous forms of sin which threaten our modern social life. 
Inspiring to us, too ; for since Jesus Christ has lived and 
died, where cannot be found 'Hen righteous men" devoted 
to His service 1 And what can they not do, with His 
words yet sounding in their ears, and His divine life and 
glorious death shining down through the ages with an ever- 
increasing brightness ; with God, too, ready and pledged 
to enter into their labor and baptize it with his power and 
immortality ? 

9 



YIII. 

UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF RELIGIOUS 
CHARACTER. 



*' If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole." — Matt. 9 : 21. 

These words were spoken by the diseased woman who 
endeavored to touch the hem of Jesus' garment in the 
crowd, that she might be cured of her infirmity. So 
great was her faith in the miraculous power of the Saviour 
that she believed if she could touch his robe she should be 
whole. The event answered her expectation. A "virtue 
went out" of the Master, which, in connection with her 
own faith, wrought a complete cure. 

I have not selected this incident as the basis of any 
remarks upon the nature and operations of the miraculous 
power of Jesus. That he had this power, and exercised 
it, cannot, it seems to me, be doubted. In some way, 
unknown to us, "a virtue went out of him" which healed 
the sick, cured the insane, and raised the dead. So 
powerful was the impression made by this superhuman 
energy, that, as in the case of the woman, people thronged 
him to touch his clothes and receive strength. He was 
full of this wonderful gift, and it flowed out, blessing all 
who were suffering around him. 



EELIGIOUS CHAKACTER. 



99 



But I would now speak of this great power of Jesus 
only as a type of a greater thing which he possessed — 
his spiritual energy. He was filled with love and truth 
no less than the miraculous gift of healing. Great, indeed, 
was the command he exercised over the laws of nature, 
stopping the progress of disease, chaining the winds and 
the waves, and calling the dead back to the arms of their 
friends ; but greater, infinitely greater, was that mysteri- 
ous power of character by which he attracted all men to 
him; that unassuming gentleness of demeanor which 
revealed the depths of his holy life, charming the beggar 
by the wayside, binding to him the disciple ignorant of 
his great mission, touching the affectionate hearts of the 
women that ministered to him, and even extorting from 
Pilate the confession, " I can find no fault in this man." 
This power of spiritual attraction was the greatest thing 
about Jesus, greater than his miracles or his words, for 
without it these would have had no meaning. It did not 
reside in his acts alone, or in his discourses, but it 
streamed out through these. It gave a beauty and sanc- 
tity to his most common act. and a weight to his most 
trifling expression. It imparted dignity to his manner, 
and shone in his face like a benediction upon the world. 
It made his silence more impressive than the conversation 
of other men. It encompassed him like an atmosphere of 
holiness and love. 

If any one is at a loss to comprehend the nature of this 
influence, let him try to recall something resembling it, 



100 UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OP 



which he has observed in common life. There are in 
every community a few persons universally beloved and 
respected. We cannot account for the fact, for often they 
do not exhibit signs of great intellect. They make no 
exertion to attract attention, rather avoid public notice. 
They are not great talkers, for their distrust of their own 
power keeps them silent. They may not be furious in 
schemes of social reform, although their benevolence is 
constant. They are not heard crying out in the churches, 
or talking aloud about God, and conversion, and futurity 
in the streets ; in fact, they are so quiet that the over- 
zealous think them indifferent to good things. They do 
not wear all their sympathies in their faces and eyes, but, 
while others are filling the air with lamentations, are 
cheerfully at work. Strange where the charm resides 
which makes them so powerful, but there it is ; and when 
men are in great trouble they go to them for help ; when 
any dispute is tearing the neighborhood in pieces it is 
referred to them, and all parties are satisfied with the 
decision ; and when a great public evil is to be overcome, 
after the brawlers have talked the community into partial 
insanity, a few hints from them set all things right. 
People have a different kind of regard for them than for 
others, a perfect confidence in them ; they know that these 
persons are worthy of esteem. They may admire one for 
his talents, fear another for his money and power, crouch 
beneath another's dogmatism, weep with another for his 
sympathetic nature ; but, when all others fail, they look 



RELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 



101 



to these as the landmarks of virtue, — as a man, becoming 
tired of newly-invented patent clocks and watches, throws 
them all out of his house, and goes back to the old sun- 
dial in his garden, which never deceived him. Whence 
comes this wonderful power ? What is it 7 

It is the unconscious power of the religious charac- 
ter. These men and women attract everybody because 
they are really good. They are disinterested; not 
scheming to exhibit themselves, but thinking of the 
welfare of others ; not boasting about virtue and knowl- 
edge, but earnestly seeking it. Their calm demeanor 
hides a great spiritual energy. While they appear cheer- 
ful or indifferent, their souls are lying in devotion at the 
feet of Omnipotence, or wrestling with trial, or glowing 
•with some new plan of benevolence. They try to conceal 
their talents and virtues, and the very effort at conceal- 
ment reveals them more beautifully than they could other- 
wise have done it. Their words are few, perhaps, but 
each one comes from the heart, and goes to a heart. They 
are full of spiritual life and love, and through every limb, 
and feature, and act, and word do these stream out into the 
world. We feel that their presence is sanctifying; ''if 
we can but touch their garments we shall be made whole." 
We cannot talk with them without being elevated by 
their goodness and faith; we cannot live in the house 
■with them without being ashamed of our bad thoughts and 
evil habits. Coming out from the society of low, sensual 
people into theirs, is like the change from a cellar to a hill- 
9=^ 



102 



UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OP 



top in the country. Thej are great and attractive because 
virtue is great and attractive. They possess the only 
reality in the universe^ and all men tend to them, as the 
systems move in beautiful order around their suns. 

The power by which all this is accomplished, I repeat, 
is the attractive power of virtue itself. These people are 
fully alive with its di\ane energy ; therefore they cannot 
appear otherwise than great and good. And I wish es- 
pecially to call your attention to the fact, that there can 
he no influence for good where there is no genuine 
spiritual life. In exact proportion to our own truth and 
love will be the amount of our attractive power over 
others. How vain is the attempt to compensate for the 
want of reality in the soul by sounding professions or 
boisterous actions ! We have all seen people who try the 
experiment, for they abound in every community. Their 
existence is passed in the endeavor to appear amiable, 
generous, learned, or religious ; they warmly invite us to 
come to their houses when they, at heart, wish us a thou- 
sand miles away ; they politely acquiesce in opinions, in 
the presence of a neighbor, which they ridicule behind his 
back ; their indignation knows no bounds at the existence 
of evils which they will not stir out of their doors to pre- 
vent ; their conversation is tricked out with the vocabu- 
lary of virtue : they surround themselves with the trap- 
pings of holiness, while they are cold and mean ; — as I 
have sometimes seen a man build a great house, and make 
it imposing to the eyes of passers-by, while he lived away 



RELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 



103 



in one corner of it, shivering over a stingy fire, and starv- 
ing upon the poorest food. 

Besides such hypocritical characters, there is a yet 
larger class who are often excited to a momentary enthu- 
siasm for greatness and goodness. An eloquent sermon, 
a good book, or the conversation of a great man, wakes 
them up to a sense of their obligations. But the deter- 
mination, the sincere love of noble things, the hungering 
and thirsting after righteousness," are wanting: and so 
their efforts are spasmodic. They expect to regenerate 
themselves by a few violent exertions of the will, or a few 
extravagant acts of benevolence, or a few unnatural rap- 
tures of devotion ; but it cannot be done. The heart is 
not there ; the calm, deep, constant love of God is away, 
and all this beating the air will not bring it to them. 
Thus, in the expressive language of Jesus, ''^Having no 
root in themselves^ they wither away.'''' 

We cannot long be deceived by such mimicry of relig- 
ious life. We may be deluded for a time by the magnifi- 
cent pretensions of the hypocrite, or be upset by the 
windy enthusiasm of his companion, but there is some- 
thing at last which tells us that it is false. This some- 
thing is the want of that attractive power of which I have 
spoken ; that unconscious, winning influence, which always 
accompanies true worth. When most excited by these 
pretenders we feel uneasy ; their presence is offensive to 
us. We say they are very pious, but very disagreeable, 
— an expression which lets us into the secret of the mat- 



104 



UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF 



ter, since genuine pietj is always lovely, even when united 
with ignorance and awkwardness. Their words raise a 
storm in our minds ; they leave no good impression behind 
them. When with them, we are astonished and over- 
powered ; but away, are surprised that we think so little 
of them. We feel cross, and wicked, and pugnacious in 
their presence. Their dogmatism arouses all the Satan in 
our hearts. People tell us we feel so because we are bad ; 
but we know better ; for when a great, good man talks 
with us, we are calmed and elevated, we become eloquent 
ourselves, and from the mountain- tops of our high con- 
verse look off entranced upon the glories of God's provi- 
dence and the splendors of life. 

But how different is the example of a truly good man ! 
Without pretension or extraordinary exertion, he impresses 
all around him with a conviction of his purity. Virtue, 
the living power, is in him, and cannot be restrained from 
flowing out into others. Conscious of his own deficiency, 
he courts retirement, and does not pretend to teach ; but 
the life in him "will out." The very attempt to conceal 
exposes it. Goodness beams in the downcast eye, and 
love and humility struggle up into the bashful face, and 
the words, so modestly uttered, thrill our hearts, and the 
generous pressure of the hand tells us a noble soul directs 
it, and throuo;h this shrinkino;, tremblino; veil of flesh, we 
see a godlike spirit toihng for deliverance, longing to make 
itself understood, and to enfold humanity in its large 
embrace. How graceful is the least act of such an one ! 



EELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 



105 



How grateful and touching tlie least expression of interest 
from iiim ! A cup of cold water given by him is signifi- 
cant of all the virtues. How beautiful to confide in such 
a man, to throw yourself upon his generosity, and gradu- 
ally to penetrate the walls in which this rare virtue is 
concealed, and draw forth, day after day, something new 
from his storehouse of spiritual riches ! Blessed, indeed, 
is he who has such a friend ; who can be admitted into 
the sanctuary of a, great and good man's spirit ! Then 
friendship has a meaning. Then do we understand the 
work we have to do for each other. Such a friendship 
was that of Jesus and John. Such a blessed privilege was 
given to Mary, when she sat at the feet and looked upon 
the face of her Master. 

I have said this great power is the attractive energy of 
virtue ; for we must never forget that holiness is God in 
the soul of man, and is the most charming of all things. 
I know we are told that vice is attractive, even more 
agreeable to the nature of man than virtue. Many good 
men say so ; and yet, if they knew it, this is blasphemy ! 
Vice more attractive than virtue ! Why, the only power 
of wickedness lies in its hypocrisy. It steals the robes 
of goodness, and for a time deceives men with the cheat, 
until their reason is lost and their hands tied. They do 
not follow the sin but the appearance of holiness or happi- 
ness. — And then, there is, in a certain stage of transgres- 
sion, a disease of the will which almost forbids return to a 
true life. — There are causes enough to account for the 



106 



UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF 



prevalence of irreligion without such a hbel upon virtue 
as this. For if love is not the greatest attractive power in 
the universe, we may as well give up all hope, and let 
things rush down again to chaos. If evil is as charming 
as we are told, then tAvo infinite powers hold creation in 
alternate possession ; then are there two Gods, Satan and 
Jehovah; then is eternity only an everlasting conflict 
between good and evil, and the final triumph of love is 
only a triumph of conquest, and the throne of God will 
eternally rest upon the ruins of half his spiritual creation ! 
No, no : virtue is not so weak a thing as this ; for even 
in hearts of clay, in a world of temptations, it is the 
greatest of all ; and when it culminates in a rare soul it 
draws the world after it, and leads it upward in the slow 
but sure ascent to heaven. 

I wish that I could portray a character of the kind I 
have mentioned, that you might hold the picture in your 
minds, and become better by contemplating it. But the 
difficulty is, that the charm and life of such a spirit cannot 
be described; and its outward manifestations are unim- 
portant without this. Yet would I attempt it, for I have 
known many such people, some possessing this spiritual 
attraction in a greater, some in a less degree ; and I have 
learned from them more of religion than from my books 
of theology. 

I remember one such person — now a man of sixty — 
whom I knew in my boyhood. He was a plain, modest, 
industrious farmer — a m.an of few words, hospitable and 



RELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 



107 



kind, to a proverb. I can remember, when I was a boy, 
sitting in the gallery of our country church, and looking 
down into his face. There was a "good look" in it. I 
did not understand much of the sermon that the parson 
was repeating over his head, in long divisions and sub- 
divisions ; but a sermon was all the time passing out of 
that worthy man's countenance into my soul. He was 
the superintendent of our Sabbath school, and when he 
read the hymns and prayers his voice shook, and the book 
in his hand trembled, from excessive diffidence ; but now 
and then a tide of emotion would pour out, and bear up 
the song and the petition to heaven, and we felt the tears 
gushing out from our eyelids. When he spoke in the 
Lyceum, all the boys were awake, and all the women 
stopped knitting, and all the men had that look of con- 
tentment which says, " Now the right thing will be said," 
He was Justice of the Peace, and his house was besieged 
by those who came there to find justice, and who got it. 
He was appointed to settle estates, and women and chil- 
dren would walk many miles to entreat him to borrow the 
little money they had earned and wished to save. When 
he was a candidate for office, all the party machinery was 
useless, for he 'Svent in" by acclamation. Thus he lived, 
always trying to retire, but always pushed on to more labor 
by a community that knew his worth. Since those days, 
he has received higher honors ; and wherever he has been, 
love and reverence have waited upon his steps. He was 
a good man ; but if I were asked to describe the qualities 



108 UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF 

which most distinguished him, I could not tell you. AH 
I know is that, plain and unpretending as he was, a look 
of peace was in his face, and an atmosphere of gentlene&s 
was around him, which won everybody's heart. 

And, since I have become a man, it has been my priv- 
ilege to know another, — a woman, now in the decline of 
her days. When I first saw her in her household, sur- 
rounded by her husband and children, I felt that I was in 
the presence of one who had seen the face of God. That 
look of perfect peace, that high composure of soul, that 
sweet and venerable blending of dignity and humility, 
revealed a spirit made pure through suffering. And so it 
was ; for she had known trials which would have broken 
the hopes of many of those who are called great ; trials of 
labor through long years of checkered life ; trials from the 
sin of the world, and the sight of wickedness in its most 
loathsome forms ; trials in the education of a large family, 
which she sheltered from a corrupt moral atmosphere, till 
they all grew up the pride of her heart, not one lost or 
tainted ; and all this done without loss of temper, without 
loud talking ; for one pleading glance from her, or one 
tear upon her cheek, would restrain her children even 
upon the brink of transgression. Since I first saw her, 
in her old age, cares have thickened around her. Health 
has failed, and, one after another, husband and children 
have gone away from the world, and yet her house wears 
no look of desolation ; the cheerful smile, the welcoming 
voice are there, as of old, and she moves about, neglecting 



EELIGIOUS CHAEACTER. 



109 



BO clutj, calmly waiting to be called home. Her life is 
richer and higher every year. Every new affliction makes 
her more quiet and confiding. She is love and faith. 0, 
blessed is age when it comes to such, whom a long life 
has not taught contempt, whom departing friends have 
not left in weakness and sorrow, whose "lives are hid 
with Christ"! Full of holy influences are they when 
living, and death comes upon them gently, as the twilight 
closes a summer afternoon, gliding off into deeper and 
deeper shadow, till night falls upon the earth ] but day is 
dawning in the worlds above. 

This fact I have attempted to present is worthy to be 
remembered by us all. It teaches us that nothing short 
of actual goodness will meet the demands of God's law ; 
nothing but sincerity qualify us to influence the minds of 
others. It oversets all hopes resting upon a ceremonial 
religion, a superficial culture, or a reputation founded on 
popular approbation; for all these cannot long disguise 
the quality of a man's heart. And it assures us that, if 
sincere lovers of God and man, we need have no apprehen- 
sions about our power to do good. When w^e are in doubt 
upon this matter, we may study our own characters, and 
if a strong regard for hohness and benevolence is found 
there, we need not fear that we are living in vain ; for 
these qualities cannot be hid, but will manifest themselves 
by the very instinct of their nature. 

There is a class of persons who greatly need the encour- 
agement to be derived from this truth. They are people 
10 



110 



UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE OF 



wlio have little confidence in their own talents or power 
of doing good. They appear so weak to themselves, the 
Christian virtues thej have seem so insignificant in com- 
parison with those they have not, that they despair of 
making the world better by their exertions. They look 
upon those who possess brilliant gifts and occupy stations 
of wide-reaching influence, and long for the ability and 
opportunity to do great works. They can see no special 
field where they are called to labor. Then a restlessness 
comes upon them, their courage fails, and they lapse into 
that melancholy state of mind, a feeling of utter unworthi- 
ness and inefficiency. It seems to them as if they were 
forgotten by God, and were living only to try the patience 
and burden the charities of men. I do not know any 
affliction so great as this. It is hard to be tempted, or 
persecuted, or left alone in the world; but the bitterest 
cup of all comes when, in moments of despondency, we 
feel that we are doing good to no earthly creature. 

But, my friend, let me tell you how to sustain yourself 
in such a trial. Begin, first, to examine your own heart ; 
and when you know it thoroughly, cast out every evil thing 
that lives there. Then forget yourself ; throw away am- 
bition, spurn every vicious indulgence, cease to live for the 
sake of ''creating a sensation," and, going down to the 
plain and pure level of a good life, dwell there in content- 
ment, doing the things which present themselves to you 
"with all your might." This is not a very easy work; 
for, if we knew it, most of our discontents and repinings 



RELIGIOUS CHARACTER. 



Ill 



come from our selfishness, or from a latent desire to attract 
the attention of men. All this must be crucified before 
we can influence others for good. Yet, if we can attain 
to this condition of disinterestedness, and contentment, and 
faith, we may be assured we are not living in vain ; for 
our example will be greater than eloquent words, and men 
whom the lights of the world cannot attract will follow 
the mild gleam of our taper, and be led to virtue. We 
shall not know the good we are doing ; it is not important 
we should ; but every kind smile of ours shall go down 
into some bereaved heart, and every word of sympathy 
shall encourage some tired spirit to brace himself for a 
new conflict. The little things we say and do out of our 
pure intentions, shall go on, becoming greater and greater, 
as a low whisper in the gallery at Rome runs on increas- 
ing to a voice of power. Those things which we scatter 
every day, unconsciously, along our path, — good im- 
pulses, cheerful thoughts, firm resolutions, deeds of kind- 
ness, — are not lost ; for God takes them into his care, and 
each one becomes a missionary in the regeneration of the 
world. Never distrust your own power to do good, if you 
are good. Be concerned only for the latter, and the 
former cannot but follow. 

For God surrounds his chosen ones with a spiritual 
atmosphere of light and love. Have you never entered a 
room to look upon a beautiful statue, and marked how it 
consecrated the place? Vulgar men uncovered their 
heads before it, and levity was checked, and the foolish 



112 



uxcoisscious influence; etc. 



seemed inspired by the sight. No one could speak aloud^ 
but all stood gazing upon the heavenly face and form, — 
the low breathing, the tear, or the silent pressure of the 
hand, the only tokens of approbation. So is it when we 
come into the presence of a great saintly nature. We are 
awed and elevated, and changed insensibly to its likeness, 
and imitate its purity and faith, and strive upward to the 
summit of its thought. In such an atmosphere does God 
envelop all true souls. It goes with them, invisible, but 
separating them from the mass of sensual beings. In such 
a cloud of glory moved Jesus of Nazareth ; and men fol- 
lowed him, they knew not why, and clung to his garments 
to receive strength. So walked he with his Father 
through his brief existence, and then ascended to heaven, 
leaving a name above all others known among men, and a 
memory that shall regenerate the world. 



IX. 

GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



*' But Stephen, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly 
into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right 
hand of God." — Acts 7 : 55. 

The chapters, from which this passage is taken, con- 
tain the narrative of the trial and death of Stephen. His 
enemies, unable to resist the wisdom and the spirit by 
which he spake," suborned men to testify against him; 
and "stirred up the people, and the elders, and the 
scribes," and ''brought him to the council." And while 
these false men were lying about him, " all that satin the 
council, looking steadfastly at him, saw his face as it had 
been the face of an angel." And the high spirit that 
gleamed through his features then spoke out, and he talked 
to them until ' ' they were cut to the heart, and gnashed 
on him with their teeth. But he, being full of the Holy 
Ghost, looked up steadfastly into heaven, and saw the 
glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of 
God." The louder raged the wrath of his foes, the calmer 
became his spirit; for what had he, as he stood there 
bearing witness to the truth, and seeing in spiritual vision 
the glory of God, to fear from the whole world? They 
10* 



114 



GLIMPSES OE HEAVEN. 



dragged him out of the city and stoned him, saying, 
Lord Jesus,, receive my spirit. And he kneeled down and 
cried with a loud voice. Lord, lay not this sin to their 
charge. And when he had said this, he fell asleep." 

Is not this vision of Stephen a type of a great fact in 
the spiritual life ? Did ever a man nobly testify to the 
truth, nobly live, and act, and sulFer, to whom the heavens 
were not opened, revealing the glory of God, and Jesus 
Christ standing at the right hand of God ? Have not all 
good men, who have lived upon the earth, caught these 
glimpses of heaven in the highest hours of their existence 7 
Not, perhaps, by visions seen in the sky, not by voices 
heard out of the darkness, not by portents in nature, or 
revolutions in life, have they been inspired; but, when 
they have reached the summit of their thought, suddenly 
have opened before them gleaming paths to higher truth, 
which seemed to scale the heavens ; when their souls have 
been full of love, they have heard afar off, like the faint 
sound of an approaching ocean tide, the coming of a love, 
deeper and more divine ; and when their weary hands have 
fallen by their sides, and, overcome by the violence of 
wicked men or the sorrows of life, they could only ' ' look 
up steadfastly into heaven," a new and wonderful power 
has flowed into them, and, removed in spirit from the 
storm around, have they lived in patience, or, like Stephen, 
prayed and fallen asleep. To every man who has lived a 
true life have come these celestial tokens of approval and 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



115 



encouragement, in ways as varied as human character 
and circumstances, yet always known to be from God. 

And what a place would this world be, if such glimpses 
of a heaven above it were not granted to us ! "VYe say 
that the earth is beautiful, that life is sacred, that truth is 
priceless, that love is divine ; yet they are so only by a 
derived glory. The ocean might roll, and the grass wave, 
and the wind bow the forest trees, and the flowers blos- 
som, and the river gleam between meadow banks, and the 
mountain Hft itself above the plain ; but what were all this 
grandeur and beauty could we not look up to the stars, 
and know that above, and beneath, and around us reposes 
infinity ? The labor, and joy, and sorrow of life might 
go on, yet where were its sanctity if there were no life 
beyond the grave ? Truth might tempt our curiosity, but 
it becomes inspiring only when it is shown to be more 
enduring than generations and worlds. Love were no 
more than the fondness of the brute, or the momentary 
blaze of passion, did we not beheve it were stronger than 
time, and change, and death. Yes, we love this world, 
because beyond its horizon hues hes another and abetter; 
and we reverence the work, the thought, and the emotion 
of which its hfe is made, because they take hold on reali- 
ties that are eternal. Assured of this, we are here con- 
tent. We are willing to toil through the long, hot summer's 
morn and noon, if, at the cool of the day, we may hear 
the voice of the Lord God among the treen. We will 
think, and love, and do all things, and suffer all things, if 



116 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



our Father will now and then reveal himself to us, and 
show us how great is our nature and dutj, and how glo- 
rious our destiny. We can stand up with joyful assurance, 
and look upon danger and death with the faces of angels, if, 
in the hour of peril, the clouds may once be rent, and the 
heavenly land gleam out between. With God loving, and 
duty inspiring, and the immortal life awaiting us, why 
should not this world be beautiful, and hfe sacred, and 
truth priceless, and danger and sorrow of no account, in 
comparison with that joy and peace which the Creator has 
laid up in store for those that love him ? 

And these glimpses of heaven are not withholden from 
us. They are given to men when living in the way of 
duty. They come to the philosopher, the artist, and the 
poet, to him who dwells worthily upon the high places of 
thought, or sounds the depth of the human soul, or, with 
reverent spirit, seeks to interpret to man the beauty of the 
universe. In the way of duty they come. There are 
lonely and solemn hours spent with thought, when truth 
has just sunk below the horizon, leaving enough of its 
radiance in the clouds above to lure us on to its pursuit ; 
when the toiling mind, reposing at last in a conclusion, 
which it fancies w^ill explain a portion of the great mys- 
tery around, discovers that its own weariness had cheated 
itself with a belief in the permanence of its acquisition, 
and after this solid foundation has passed away, finds 
itself drifting again through space ; then, if that soul be 
reverent, it bows down, and owns that there are things 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVENo 



IIT 



"whicli its vision cannot comprehend ; and then comes to it 
some happy intuition, some explaining principle, enough 
to refresh its strength, and beckon it on to farther toil. 
And thus is man kept from utter scepticism ; for, whatever 
uncertainty may belong to his knowledge, he has always 
in store this divine hope, this unexplored land which he 
has just discovered. 

And the poet, who has made his soul a pure mirror for 
the facts of nature and life, who has been content to lift 
himself up to the " height of some great argument," 
by years of communion with genius, by wide and intimate 
knowledge of the human heart, by self-renunciation, and 
temperance, and piety, and benevolence, feels often, when 
he approaches his work, that all this sacrifice and disci- 
pline has been for nought. Then, as he stands awed before 
the unapproachable beauty and grandeur of his ideal, and 
can only "look up steadfastly into heaven " in silent prayer 
for aid, he feels dawning within the power to do what he 
has imagined, and invisible arms support him while he 
writes words that will live longer than the world. When- 
ever or wherever a man consecrates himself to a great 
purpose, and feels that the best thing he can do is little 
enough to give him the right to pray to God for aid; the 
help comes, and by these glimpses of the vrorld of spirit- 
ual realities is he reconciled to the limitations of mortality. 
So do those who dwell on the high places of our existence, 
often see the heavens open, revealing the glory of God. 

And not alone in the elevated walks of existence do men 



118 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



receive these inspiring tokens of Divine approbation. Com- 
mon life is cheered by them, and the difficult and vexa- 
tious labors of the exchange, the field, and the household 
are thereby lightened and consecrated. It is of little im- 
portance what a man does, if he brings to his work a high 
purpose, and an enduring patience ; for these virtues, in 
any sphere of action, will command a blessing from God. 

The Christian man of business has glimpses of heaven ; 
and surely he needs them to lift him above the trials and 
temptations of his lot. That constant intercourse with 
material things, that daily spectacle of selfishness, that 
hourly exercise of caution, that resistance to the interest of 
other men, that desire for wealth which, unless kept down, 
becomes a fever in the blood and a madness in the brain, 
that insane haste which drives men about the street as if 
the ground would sink under their feet, should they pause 
a moment ; here are temptation, and confusion, and trial 
enough to test the worth of any human spirit. True, this 
is found in connection with much that is great, and gen- 
erous, and religious. But still it exists ; and were there 
no higher influences around a man of business than those 
of the exchange, we might well despair of his deHverance 
from the slavery of this world. 

But see how God provides for the encouragement and 
safety of those who, in this sphere of life, would do His 
will. The most selfish man cannot entirely cut himself 
off from contact with things disinterested and elevating. 
He may arm himself in triple steel, and determine to have 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



119 



no friends wlio shall stand between him and his gains, and 
walk about the streets like the embodied spirit of trade ; 
yet there is always one spot in his armor through which 
an arrow from the citadel of truth or love can reach him. 
He is unconsciously melted by some tale of distress, or a 
terrible social wrong blows his dying spirit into a flame, or 
a failure in his plans teaches him his dependence ; and, 
when his wife or his little child lies sick at home, he feels, 
in the midst of his warehouses and his ships, how poor a 
thing is all the money upon earth compared with one 
throb of a loving heart. And each of these events opens 
a way of escape from his selfishness. He cannot, if he 
will, destroy his humanity ; for God comes every day, and 
knocks upon his iron mail, so lightly that no one else 
hears it, yet does it sound through the depths of his soul, 
as if a peal of thunder had rent the cope of heaven and 
shaken the pillars of the earth ! 

And if these calls are obeyed, and the man resolves to 
live more for others, and disentangle himself from the 
toils of selfishness, then are they heard often er than before. 
A joyful presence goes with him now, and there is a new 
vigor and elasticity in his step, and a smile upon his face, 
and a light in his eye, and an inviting courtesy in his 
manner. His mind is clear, and he discovers how much 
the toil of business is lessened when a man has determined 
to walk straight forward to duty. Success does not 
inflame him, failure does not discourage him ; and, if any 
one is so unfortunate as to wrong him, he feels that the 



120 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



money was well exchanged for tlie consciousness of hon- 
esty and manliness which fills his soul. And if he becomes 
involved in difficulties, as all good men sometimes are, and 
begins to doubt the providence of God. and the truth of 
man, and feels as if it were foolishness longer to hold out 
against the raging tide of wickedness, he is assured, in 
some way, that God is yet in his world ; that man is not 
entirely reprobate ; that sin is growing violent only with 
the fury of a dying monster. For, driven about by many 
winds of fortune, at last his feet rest upon a spot high 
above his former life, and a wide expanse stretches below, 
and over him reposes a deep blue heaven ; and, while all 
men seem given up to sin, one comes to him with a nobler 
purpose and a more generous confidence than he ever 
before saw ; and while he is in despair for the appearance 
of a good time, a shudder runs through the great fabric of 
a selfish social state, as the pillars upon which it rests sink 
into the centre of the earth. And what are all these, 
warnings to the selfish man, and inspiring omens to the 
Christian, but glimpses of heaven, given by God to 
strengthen and console his toiling children ? 

I might go on and say how, in other conditions of life, 
good men are inspired by visions of heaven ; how, in the 
midst of sorrow, a strange peace comes over the spirit, 
and a thought of God, in which the sense of personal loss 
is borne away ; how, in the perilous hours of a nation's 
life, the God-fearing statesman is gifted with a sagacity 
which rises to intuition, and an eloquence which becomes 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 121 

prophetic ; how, amid flickering flames, shine out the calm 
faces of saints about to go to their reward ; how, in all the 
best hours of life, God draws Hear the soul, and fills it 
with a sweet and solemn faith, and arrays it with a power 
greater than the ills and evils of this mortal state. But 
rather would I entreat you to reverence these celestial 
omens, and live worthily, as becometh men whom God 
himself invites to holiness. And, brethren, do not con- 
found these divine warnings and inspiring omens with the 
dreams of the indolent and unspiritual. It is easy to fold 
our arms, and let fall our will, and shrink away from 
mental toil, and avoid that efibrt Avhich benevolence de- 
mands, and, all the time, cheat ourselves with fancies and 
air castles, and live in a world of sentimental feelings and 
dainty preferences. These are not glimpses of heaven, 
but the pictures on which a fond, weak imagination gazes, 
while death is creeping over the immortal spirit. No, idle- 
ness, and selfishness, and weakness are never inspired. To 
them come awful visitations, the sense of guilt, the fearful 
" looking for of judgment." Only into the souls of those 
who lift their own hands does strength flow from on high. 
Only to Newton, in his highest hour of thought, comes a 
vision of suns and systems moving in sublime order through 
heaven ; only to the spiritual gaze of Milton, at the end 
of a life sanctified by all great and generous disciphne, is 
removed the veil that hangs between the temporal and the 
eternal. Only to Stephen, after he has toiled, and suffered, 
and prayed, and borne high witness to the truth in the 
11 



122 



GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. 



presence of his enemies, does heaven oj^en, and Jesus 
Christ appear standing at the right hand of God. To him 
alone who lives above this world, come gleams and tokens 
from another. 

My brother, dwelling in wickedness, heed these warn- 
ing voices, out of all things calling thee to a higher life. 
Strive to go above thy selfishness and thy sin. Think, 
and love, and work, and pray. Then shalt thou know 
that thy Saviour is not afar off ; then shalt thou, before 
thou fallest asleep, behold the glory of thy God. 



X. 



SINCEKITY. 



** That ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ." 

Epis. Phill. 1 : 10. 

The apostle Paul, writing to the church at Philippi, 
desires, in the beginning of his letter, that these blessings 
should especially be given to his friends, — "That your 
love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in 
all judgment ; that ye may approve things that are excel- 
lent ; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the 
day of Christ ; being filled with the fruits of righteous- 
ness, which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise 
of God." Such a wish was indeed worthy the apostle, 
for it comprises the beginning, progress, and result of 
the Christian life. Love^ "abounding more and more," 
awakening the desire for holiness, and unsealing the eyes 
of the understanding to "knowledge and all judgment;" 
then. Conscience^ " approving things excellent;" and, as 
the crown of all, and essential to the " being filled with the 
fruits of righteousness," Sincerity^ keeping the soul pure 
of evil, holding the reins of the passions and appetites 
that would upset the will. 



124 



SINCERITY. 



And very justly did the apostle place this virtue of sin- 
cerity in so important relations ; for upon it are founded 
all excellence of individual character, and all stability in 
social life. A man is nothing unless sincere. In propor- 
tion as we know from himself exactly what he is, does he 
win and deserve our confidence. And a state could not 
exist a day whose citizens had lost confidence in each 
other's integrity. In every word we speak, and every act 
we do, — yes, in every thought, sincerity in ourselves and 
others is unconsciously assumed. 

It is not strange that this should be so. Tor sincerity 
is nothing less than truth. It is, in its highest form, the 
instinctive gravitation of our whole nature to what is great, 
good, and beautiful; the joyful response of the human 
soul to the Divine perfections. In a somewhat lower sig- 
nification, it is the striving of a man to put away dissimu- 
lation and disturbing agencies to a noble life. In any 
worthy meaning of the term, it is the purification of the 
motives and the consecration of the powers of our being ; 
the thinking, acting, and speaking up to our highest com- 
prehension. 

There is a sincerity of thought and feeling which under- 
lies all manifestations of this virtue. A man is sincere, in 
the best sense, when he thinks and studies only for the 
sake of obtaining the truth, and loves what is deserving 
his reverence and afiection. Every mind is exposed to 
the influence of perverse and brilliant theories, and obsti- 
nate prejudices. These take possession of us ; and, before 



SINCERITY. 



125 



"we know it, we are not seeking after truth, but trying to 
discover facts to sustain our preconceived system, or to 
reconcile the universe to our personal conceits. Then, our 
affections are seduced by objects that appeal to our appe- 
tites, vanity, and ambition, or the lower passions and 
faculties. We yield to the drunken joy, and drift away 
from hoHness through our impulses and moods. Sin- 
cerity forbids all this. From its throne, in the centre of 
the being, it chains the intellect to a loyal obedience to 
truth ; holds steadily before the impetuous affections the 
image of heavenly purity, and directs the imagination 
towards the Infinite Beauty. 

And when sincerity sits thus upon the throne of life, 
it controls not only the inward but the outward man. It 
makes his action a genuine representative of his best 
thought and feeling. Instead of floating through inde- 
cision, and discussion, and feeble expediency, he simply 
and naturally acts out his best thought, and follows the 
noblest direction of his heart. He distrusts all novel 
methods of virtue, all "short cuts" to heroism. He 
knows what is the highest thought in his mind, and what 
his conscience, speaking most clearly, tells him to do; 
and all his life he is striving to bring his actions up to 
this standard, in opposition to obstacles from selfishness 
within or temptation without. 

This purity of action passes into his speech, which is 
itself, in truth, a very noble style of acting. This man 
does not talk to astonish, to seduce, or overpower men, or 
11^ 



126 



SINCERITY. 



to exhibit his own mental furniture to himself. When a 
great truth comes and waits for expression, and points to 
a world waiting for its utterance, he opens his lips. 
When a deep sentiment of thankfulness to God arises in 
his heart, from the street, from the church, or from 
his bed goes up a silent prayer. When his whole 
soul leans towards a fellow-creature, he trusts the 
instincts of his better nature, and sends to that brother 
words of endearment, encouragement, and consolation.. 
When beauty in heaven or earth, or in the face or spirit 
of man, inspires him, he is not ashamed to be, for that 
moment, a poet. And his pure and joyous mirth goes 
frolicking before the very face of conventional decency 
and stately imbecility, and gives a spring and a laugh for 
every frown and shaking of the head. So does his con- 
versation express the purest and noblest part of his 
soul. 

And thought, action, and speech of this kind do not 
pause until they have moulded the outward form to their 
hkeness. When we look into the face of this man, we 
know he can be trusted. In his carriage and deportment 
is seen that grace which is born only of the Christian 
life. All the rest of the world are trying, by contorting 
their faces and assuming postures, to coax beauty into 
their persons. He hves a noble and simple life, and a 
diviner beauty comes to him than they conceive, subdues 
all hardness of feature and stiffness of form, and the man 
is transfigured before us. So through this outward veil 



SINCERITY. 



12T 



do we look in and see the soul that God has made his 
own. 

Such is perfect sincerity, — " Truth in the inward 
parts,"' truth in action, truth in speech; all revealed 
through manners at once natural and beautiful. But, 
alas ! only one being has yet realized this ideal. Yet, in 
many good men, we see it in fragments, and it gleams 
through our common life often enough to make us hate 
its counterfeits, and deplore its absence. 

I surely need not speak here of its utter loss, or try to 
picture a soul given over to insincerity. But it seems 
important that two methods of departure from a virtue so 
essential should be noticed. These I will now consider. - 
One is, that insincerity which consists in imitation — 
the trying to think, act, talk, and appear above ourselves, 
because there are souls above ours. The other is the 
insincerity which is entertained in some minds as sincer- 
ity, — that spiritual incontinence which consists in acting 
and talking out indiscriminately everything, good or bad, 
which the Holy Spirit or the Father of Lies may put into 
the soul. 

Imitation, — the striving to think, act, and talk above 
oneself, — is a more common vice than we may suppose. 
Tor it not only appears in the form of troublesome vanity, 
pretension and hypocrisy, but is often almost uncon- 
sciously assumed. All men agree to condemn a notorious 
liar and hypocrite, — one who falsifies in facts, and pretends 
openly to be what he is not 5 and time would be wasted 



128 



SINCERITY. 



in exposing the weakness and sin of such a person. But 
there is a class of people, much more numerous than this, 
who violate sincerity in a more fatal manner, and succeed, 
not only in deceiving others, but half cheating themselves. 
It is composed of men and women who adopt conclusions 
to which they have never arrived by any mental or moral 
process of their own ; who imitate the outward actions of 
those who are really great and good, thinking that by this 
method they gain a fellowship with them ; who talk 
fluently about the most sacred and abstruse topics, in a 
manner that proves they have never obtained the first 
true conception of their magnitude ; and, as the crown of 
their unconscious hypocrisy, conform in their manners, as 
far as possible, to the deportment of the saints. 

The grand error of such persons lies in confounding 
the " spirit " of excellence with the " letter." They have 
been taught to yield a formal respect to what is great, 
good, and beautiful, and they really feel this respect, to a 
certain degree. But, from original weakness of nature, 
or miseducation, or oftener from the selfishness of their 
own hearts, they suppose the highest things in life are to 
be obtained by imitating the forms they assume in their 
worthy disciples. So they spend their days in a region 
of falsehood. Their opinions do not belong to them; 
their actions are like cold meats served the day after a 
feast ; their conversation is neither natural nor inspiring ; 
and their manners repel us by their mechanical precision, 
and want of adaptation to circumstances and persons. 



SINCERITY. 



129 



I suppose we must all plead guilty to this sort of 
hjpocrisj in a degree. Tew of us have not, at some 
time, been in the disgraceful position of believing, acting, 
talking, and appearing above ourselves. An honest man 
cannot easily forget such times, and will gladly escape 
the humiliating recollection of them. And it would be 
unjust to accuse any man of living entirely in such an 
atmosphere. In truth, in the soul almost given over to 
this self-delusion, there is always one living spot, — a 
sense of dissatisfaction, or a consciousness of insincerity, 
— strong enough to build a hope of regeneration upon. 
But have we not often seen the man whose hfe was, as 
far as possible, such an organized lie, — who had succeeded 
in cheating half the world, and half cheating himself into 
the belief that he was the " ideal man" ? He talks of 
God, life, duty, and immortality, as if he knew no doubt 
upon such themes ; and woe to the unhappy man who 
confesses before him that he does not see clearly through 
the whole universe ; for he goes away with the brand of 
"heretic" on his brow, or with his faith yet more con- 
fused by the superficial philosophy of his omniscient 
instructor. He imitates the outward acts of holiness, is 
strictly honest, and severely righteous, and punctilious 
beyond other men in the observance of the' Christian pro- 
prieties. He supposes himself a believer in all that is 
necessary to be believed. And his manners are the 
admiration of the critical in such matters. But, for 
some reason, all this does not satisfy us. xire the God, 



130 



SINCERITY. 



the life, tlie immortality and the duty, of which he talks 
so confidently, realities ? Can it be that his vacant eye 
has pierced the eternal mystery ? No. There is a God, 
but not the one with whom he is so familiar. Life, 
immortality and duty still exist, and inspire the hopes 
and test the faith of saints and prophets ; but not his for- 
mahsm, his existence, and his future. And beyond the 
horizon of his world of thought He all grand and holy 
things. His money given in charity freezes the beggar's 
hand; his entrance into God's house darkens the win- 
dows ; his prayers and exhortations make sinners rave, 
and good men weep, and half lose their faith. Legisla- 
tion becomes a farce, and commerce dwindles to traffic, 
and social intercourse becomes an exchange of compli- 
ments, when he leads. He empties life of its beauty and 
glory, and from such as he the " whole creation groaneth 
to be delivered ! " 

Now there is a way even for such a man to return to 
sincerity. I grant, the first step must come from without 
himself, in the form of humiliation and affliction, or from 
the secret influences of God's Spirit within, blowing into a 
flame the dying embers of his nobler hfe. But when this 
impulse is given, let him follow out his convictions of sin ; 
let him submit to his disgrace ; and, when humiliation has 
done its perfect work, and left him stranded upon the 
barren shore of his own individuality, then there is hope. 
For if he will consent to live a while in this vale of 
obscurity, and then revise his opinions, become natural in 



SINCERITY. 



131 



his actions, talk only of what he knows, and behave mod- 
estly, he will by-and-by find himself upon the true road 
to excellence. Only through this gate of sorrow can such 
a man hope to enter that path which leadeth to eternal 
life. 

Widely different from this form of insincerity is that 
which I am now to describe. This consists in living 
chiefly from momentary impulse. Such a person thinks 
and studies only by jerks ; remains where one wave of 
feeling has lodged him till another bears him away ; acts 
out all his moods; talks of everything that enters his 
mind; and in his manners corresponds to the caprice of 
his inner life. 

This is an error into which very noble natures are apt 
to fall. For they often know that many great and good 
things they have done have come from a sudden intuition 
or impulse, acted and spoken out fearlessly into the world. 
And from this the transition is somewhat easy to believ- 
ing that all thoughts and feelings should in the same 
manner be expressed. It appears to me that this evil is 
increasing in our midst, and doing harm to many people 
who were made for better things. 

The unreasonableness of this line of conduct will appear 
at once by referring to our definition of sincerity. It 
consists in the purification and consecration to truth of 
the inner man, and the acting and speaking up to the 
highest thought and feeling. Now I suppose even the 
class of people I have named will agree with me that a 



132 



SINCERITY. 



man should never cease trying to enlarge his opinions and 
purify his motives and his taste. To stop doing this is 
the worst kind of insincerity, — deliberate sin against God. 
But, spite of all efforts, much will remain in the soul 
which is not of the highest quality ; imperfect notions, 
crude sentiments, and bad taste ; of much of which men 
are not aware, and, of course, are not to blame for ex- 
pressing ; but also much of which they are, to a greater 
or less degree, conscious. Now, those who advocate this 
form of conduct say this should be expressed, in order 
that the world may know exactly what they are ; other- 
wise, they are pretending to be what they are not. 

This opinion I believe to be false. It is jiot sincerity to 
deliberately or consciously express the lower part of our 
nature and life. It is true, God has made it necessary 
that we should pass through imperfection to perfection: 
There must be a time of unformed opinions and unhealthy 
feelings ; and just at that time, unfortunately, we are tor- 
mented with a fierce rage for utterance, and an almost 
uncontrollable longing for sympathy ; but, certainly, this 
is not, to any great extent, the time for indiscriminate 
expression : especially if our doubts, troubles and tempta- 
tions are such as we rise above and are ashamed of in our 
better moments. Such things are simply to be kept 
down, and, if they cannot be entirely banished from the 
mind, borne in silence, as a trial of our faith or an afflic- 
tion sent from God. 

For the expression of them gives no permanent relief, 



SINCEKITY. 133 

but increases tlie miscliief in ourselves, or disturbs and 
tempts our friend. Let this never be forgotten : the 
utterance of tilings from the nobler part of our nature, 
our honest convictions, pure feelings and best hopes, is 
always inspiring and strengthening to ourselves and others. 
But the utterance of the lower nature, our doubts, our 
restless or impure feelings, and our despondency, is often 
injurious to speaker and hearer. I know there may be 
exceptions to this rule. There may be times when we 
have come to a stand in life, and must tell our doubt and 
sorrow and temptation; but then let it be told to a 
nature above ours, one who will see through our heart, 
and will joyfully lead us up to himself ; let it not be 
thrown as a burden on shoulders more bent than ours, or 
gossipped about at tea-tables, and in the streets. A gen- 
uine man will know when such a time has come. But 
the general rule holds, that we are strengthened only by 
the voluntary expression of our strength, and weakened 
by the utterance of our weakness. There is a sort of" 
cowardice in often yielding to our desire to impart every- 
thing of this kind. We get to thinking that others can 
do for us what we can only do for ourselves. We crave 
sympathy so much that we even half invent trouble, to 
gain it. And, as a retribution, our own will falls, our 
work is left undone, we are constantly running away from 
this battle-field of the soul, where victory may be won, 
and spend life in imploring other people to wipe the tears 
from our eyes. 

12 



134 



SINCERITY. 



But this is not the worst of it. While we have these 
crude opinions, and restless and bad feelings in our own 
minds, they are under our own control; but let one of them 
^ go out, and it passes beyond our control, and, like the mist 
locked in the casket in the Arabian tale, at the opening 
of the lid, streams up, till it obscures the heavens, and 
then condenses into the form of a threatening geni. Every 
crude thought and bad feeling uttered is a new devil let 
loose upon the world. It comes back and plagues and 
tempts us ; it goes to our friend, and plagues and tempts 
him; it is free to plague and tempt every man and 
woman upon earth, until the judgment-day. Oh ! there is 
a terrible abyss between error and sin in the heart of man, 
and error and sin expressed and acted out into the world ; 
yet how easily is it bridged and crossed ; and then we see 
too late that we have come out of our Eden, and begun 
our life wandering through the desert ! 

So should we forbear to give expression to the lower 
part of our nature, for our own sakes, and in compassion 
to others. But how will people know me, if I do not 
tell them all I think and feel?" you ask. Do not let 
that disturb you, my friend. Live up to the hest you can 
think and feel, and then there will be enough known of 
your imperfections. God takes care that men shall know 
as much as they ought of you. It is wisely ordained that 
no one can know exactly what you are. No one could 
bear such knowledge. Only to the pure eyes of the 
Deity can be safely laid open all your weakness and 



SINCERITY. 



135 



impurity. And if you try to confide all to men, your 
words will not serve you, and, an hour after, you will 
complain of having behed yourself You cannot tell a 
friend what you are, if you try ; but live as nobly as you 
can, and enough of the grace and heroism and patience 
and sadness and weakness of your life will unconsciously 
reveal itself, — as much as the world can safely be trusted 
with. Only do you live. Your reputation may be left 
in the hands of your Maker. 

Do not infer from this that I approve a cold, reserved, 
calculating virtue. I do, indeed, enjoin an awful reserve, 
and a constant watchfulness in the expression of things 
unworthy to be uttered. But when a noble thought kin- 
dles the intellect, when a high and generous impulse 
raises the soul, when a picture from the infinite loveliness 
charms the inner eye, — then it is a joy, a divine privi- 
lege, to speak and act. , Then words have souls, and the 
hues of a letter talk, and weep, and pray, and cheer, and 
console, and a strange charm steals into the voice, and 
the eye flashes love and power into another's heart, and 
the least act becomes significant, and the whole man is 
swayed by the stirring of his great thought, as a forest- 
tree swings, and tosses, and waves in the north wind. This 
is the noblest reward of hohness of life, that, as a man 
becomes great and pure, he can trust his impulses, ceases 
to doubt in the time of action, and at last rises to the point 
where love holds conscience embosomed, and spontane- 
ously moves upward to the good Father. 



136 



SINCERITY. 



And now, having shown you the evil ways of hypoc- 
risy and weakness, how can I close but by directing you 
again to look upon the celestial form of sincerity ? Do 
you need my exhortations to persuade you to live this life 
of inward purity, of action and conversation flowing from 
all that is great and good wthin? Shall I tell you, or 
ask you to tell me, of the joys of that divine existence ? 
Let me not attempt to speak of those delights which we 
have known often enough to fill us with um-est in all the 
lower periods of our earthly journey ; the joy in loving 
another, with no reservation of advantage for ourselves ; 
the happiness of finding our tongues loosed, while striving 
to utter a high thought or a pure feeling ; the calm assur- 
ance that, now we are living in perfect sincerity, there 
can be no such thing as failure ; that success is inspira- 
tion, and disappointment a new call to effort, and " to live 
is Christ and to die is gain." Let me not describe, but 
say that this and more may be in the experience of every 
child of God. No one so poor or so humble that sincerity 
will not open to him the gates of the " kingdom of 
heaven." No one so great that consecration to the truth 
shall not reveal to him a new greatness, in which, through 
humihty and worship, he rises to love and power. God 
grant that you, my friends, may now respond to this 
benediction, with which the apostle, through me, to-day 
blesses you: "That ye may be sincere, and without 
offence, till the day of Christ." 



XL 



w SELF-CONTROL. 



*' He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city." — 
Pkov. 16 : 32. 

Certainly the author of the book of Proverbs deserves 
his title of " The Wise Man" for this saying alone. The 
force of his comparison will be better understood when 
we remember that, to succeed in war, " to take a city," 
was, in his day, accounted, perhaps, the greatest proof 
of manliness. He says that such an achievement is 
below self-control, and thus declares that nothing so 
becomes a man as to " rule his own spirit." There was, 
doubtless, need enough of such advice in that period of 
the world ; and so little does human nature change from 
one age to another, that in the church and civilization of 
our time we cannot select words more appropriate for 
instruction than these, written more that two thousand 
years ago. For a very superficial glance over society is 
enough to show the deficiencies of people in this virtue of 
self-government. One of the rarest spectacles is a man 
who entirely possesses himself A majority of the 
community attempt to govern children, transact difficult 
business, form opinions upon important subjects, even 
12*- 



138 



SELF-CONTROL. 



to rule their fellow-men, without this cardinal element of 
a true character ; and the great number of parents who 
cannot keep their own temper ; men and women in 
active life, who are enslaved hj their occupations ; states- 
men and politicians, who cannot hold their own sensual 
and selfish passions in check; and persons everywhere, 
whose opinions are only systematized prejudices, is the 
sad living commentary of to-day on these words, out of 
one of the oldest books in the world. Let me, then, 
— since there is so great need of it, — now enforce the 
obligation of this duty ; showing why it is obligatory, in 
what respects it applies to every man, and what are some 
of its best results. 

But we are met on the threshold of this discussion by 
a theory of conduct, which denies the obligation or value 
of self-control. Most men acknowledge the duti/, but 
fail, from various causes, to perform it. Yet there are 
those, and a class too, whose abilities and good intentions 
raise them above contempt, who doubt or deny that it is 
a duty. Few of them have reduced their scepticism to 
any definite statement, but the greater number are in 
that state of uncertainty which poisons every good resolu- 
tion, and keeps the inner life in a perpetual state of vacil- 
lation and unrest. .But there are those who distinctly 
say that self-control is not a duty. They maintain that 
man should act without compulsion from without or 
within ; that he should follow unhesitatingly the lead of 
his faculties and propensities ; that these are good in 



SELF-CONTROL. 



139 



tliemselves, and continue so, while undisturbed in their 
satisfactions. Such persons talk much of sincerity, and 
suppose it consists in acting out the feeling or impulse of 
the moment. Thej saj that this way of life is the only 
one by which man can gain what they call a "harmonious 
development of his nature;" the only way by which he 
can fulfil his true destiny. 

Now it is very evident that such a course of conduct 
would be proper only under certain circumstances. This 
theory of action is only a part of a general theory of life. 
If man were created entirely free from liability to disease 
of his faculties and propensities, — if there were no hered- 
itary tendency to immoderate use of any portion of his 
nature, and if he could always live where circumstances 
were so well adjusted to his spirit that there should be 
no hindrance to the free development of every power, no 
possibility of interference with others, by so doing, and 
no temptation to excess in any direction, — - then it might 
be proper to live in this spontaneous way. So the 
adherents of this opinion are obliged to construct a world 
of their own to secure the possibihty of such perfectly free 
action. 

Whether such a world as this could exist without an 
essential change in the nature of man, — a change that 
would take away his noblest characteristic, his moral 
freedom, and give him in return that kind of develop- 
ment which belongs to trees, and stones, and wild beasts, 
is a serious theme for consideration. It is my opinion, 



140 



SELF-CONTROL. 



that tlie only condition in whicli a man could be entirely 
relieved from the duty of self-control, at some period of 
his career, would be one in which there was no moral 
obhgation whatever, in which sin and holiness would be 
words without a meaning, and the soul be capable only 
of a mechanical, fatal development. And I am not pre- 
pared to say I would exchange my privilege of becoming 
an angel, though at the risk of becoming a demon, for an 
existence in which I should be compelled, by an inex- 
orable fatalism, to be developed into any form, however 
beautiful or harmonious. 

Eut the discussion of this question is of no practical 
use to us, because we are not in such a world. No man 
was ever born in the conditions or surrounded by the 
circumstances this theory demands. God has seen fit to 
place us in a different state of existence ; and certainly, 
in a Christian church, I shall not be blamed for assuming 
that God knows how to make a world better than any of 
his modern philosophical critics. 

I say, we are not in such a world as this theory of per- 
fectly spontaneous conduct demands. It is a fact that no 
child is born free from liability to do wrong ; no one born 
free from some actual disease of body or mind, which offers 
a temptation to excess in some particular direction. And 
each child comes into a world full of other persons, 
created with the same hereditary diseased tendencies, or 
liabilities, which are temptations to them. And in the 
midst of such a state of things, with temptation assailing 



SELF-CONTROL, 



141 



it at every step, and conflicting human interests all about 
it, is this child reared to years of discretion. So each 
human being, on arriving at that period of life when he 
must live for himself, finds, as a consequence of this 
previous training and exposure, his own spiritual nature 
in a state more or less disordered, — the derangement 
varying in degrees from mental chaos up to what is 
recognized as manly self-possession. No person will deny 
that this is, and always has been, the actual condition of 
mankind. How much of it is the unavoidable accompani- 
ment of our moral freedom, how much is chargeable 
directly on our own and our progenitor's sin, how much 
is providential and disciplinary, is a worthy subject of 
investigation for people who have the leisure. But this 
one fact now stares in the face of every person living, 
that he is, in some respects, what he ought not to be; that 
certain faculties or propensities in his nature have got an 
unhealthy growth. In such a condition, to act out freely 
every desire, is morally impossible ; for should every man 
do this, the world would become Hell before sunset any 
day. There is only one alternative to this, self-control. 
Every man must take himself in hand, — must begin 
deliberately, systematically, and patiently to "rule his 
own spirit." There is a place in life for spontaneous action, 
as we shall by-and-by perceive, but it is not at this period 
of the soul's progress. Now the one solemn, imperative 
duty is, to restore order to the disordered inner world. 
No part of our nature is exempt from this necessity of 



142 



SELF-CONTROL. 



self-control. The highest faculty, no less than the low- 
est propensity, may fall into excess lyhich will endanger 
the soul's best welfare. A brief review of the mind in a 
few of its most striking aspects will verify this fact beyond 
cavil. 

The appetites must be controlled, or, in their present 
form of action, they will destroy even the hope of spirit- 
ual advancement. It is not necessary to assume that 
they are evil in themselves, as one-sided religionists often 
have. They are good, and only good, in their own place, 
acting in true relation to higher gifts and powers. By 
their union with the passions they constitute the grand 
impelling force of the nature, and no man can be very 
great or good without the kind of power which they con- 
tribute. They should all be indulged within proper lim- 
its ; and the judgment and conscience of each man, after 
long experience, must decide what these limits are ; and 
any ascetic self-denial in respect to them is a loss of power 
and a mischievous caricature of spiritualism. But this 
mean of temperance is very hard to be hit in the present 
condition of human nature. No man or woman of us is 
destitute of some hereditary taint of physical constitution, 
either showing itself in bodily weakness or in a heated and 
clamorous appetite. And so perverse and unnatural is 
our physical training, that not one of us escapes some 
form of intemperance. There is no class of vices more 
subtle in their manifestations than these. Sensualism will 
maintain itself in the neighborhood of the highest genius 



SELF-CONTEOL. 



143 



and refinement, and the most intense spirit of devotion. 
The philosopher may train his intellect to discern the 
slightest mental differences, while some wicked indulgence 
stands waiting to receive him when he becomes weary of 
thought. The poet may so associate his darling sin with 
everything beautiful in form and seducing in affection, that 
he half persuades himself it is a legitimate element in his 
life. The devout religionist may fall from the summit of 
his prayers into the lowest depth of sensual debasement. 
This tendency to excess in the appetites is universal, and 
no form of excess is more fatal to the true life of the spirit. 
The first thing to be done, in self-culture, is to regulate 
them ; unless this is done, labor in every other direction 
is lost. A man with diseased and ungovernable appetites 
can be sure of nothing. Intellectual vigor, imaginative 
power, delicacy and strength of religious convictions, and 
vigor of will, are all at their mercy ; and the hope to ac- 
complish anything in life while they are irresponsible to 
self-control, is like building a city upon the slope of 
Vesuvius, with an ocean of lava simmering underneath, 
ready to boil over and sweep it away in a fiery deluge ! 

And as we rise into the region of the higher faculties, 
the necessity of self-control becomes only more evident. 
The intellect cannot be trusted with its blind desire for 
knowledge, unrestrained by the other powers. The intel- 
lect is essentially sceptical; it doubts, naturally, and 
demands rigid proof before it will admit anything to its 
confidence. It also pursues knowledge from the simple 



144 



SELF-CONTROL. 



desire to know, not caring for the uses or results of its 
acquisition and inquiry. How easily can two such ten- 
dencies become diseased, and convert a man into a mere 
doubting animal, or a cold critical inquirer ! Indeed, the 
whole drift of what is called " high culture," in modern 
times, is towards an excess of intellectual activity. Not 
only things within its sphere of observation, but the high- 
est facts of religion, are tested by its analysis. Physical 
power, poetical insight, and the deep intuitions of the 
affections are sacrificed upon the altar of an un sanctified 
and unsatiated knowledge. I am not disposed to join in 
the vulgar theological cant against learning and human 
wisdom. But, while we are bound to keep clear of that, 
we must not forget that the intellect is only one part of 
man, and not the highest part ; and that knowledge and 
mental acuteness, however wonderful, are only more ter- 
rific instruments of evil when acquired by the loss of those 
nobler elements which most nearly bind us to God. It 
therefore is a part of every Christian's duty to keep his 
intellect in its own place, to strive to feel and live up to 
all he knows, to resist that mental activity which wears 
away his health, unsettles his best purposes, and enfeebles 
his will. It matters not upon what subject a man thinks, 
— philosophy, politics, business, or rehgion, — if he thinks 
to the neglect of the duties of practical life, and the cul- 
ture of the affections and imagination, he is going wrong, 
is in the road to a dangerous scepticism. Much of the 
rehgious unbelief and social and private uneasiness of the 



SELF-CONTEOL. 



145 



present time, among the more informed classes, is owing to 
the want of mental self-control ; and he is the wisest man 
who knows when he has thought enough, and how to applj 
his knowledge, and to proportion his m.ental culture to the 
education of his remaining faculties. 

The imagination must be restrained from over-action, 
or it w^ill upset every rational hope of usefulness or hap- 
piness. "Without its piercing insight and inspiring ideal- 
ization, we should be much lower in the scale of being 
than now ; but, when diseased, it can work mischief pro- 
portioned to its power to impart good. There is a ten- 
dency in every mind to break away from the actual, every- 
day life, and dwell in an imaginative, dreamy, improbable 
world. This is hurtful and wrong, and is to be resisted. 
"\V e may, occasionally, rise above our actual condition, and 
anticipate, and almost prophecy our future ; or we may 
create a world of the imagination, where truth, love and 
beauty are more strikingly illustrated than in the com- 
munity where we live. We are safe in our dreams while 
they obey the great laws of life appointed by God. 
JBut when we indulge our laziness, postpone our repent- 
ance, and excuse our deficiencies, by living in an unreal 
world of fancies and shadows, we are giving ourselves 
over to sorrow and weakness. For this world, bad as it 
is, hard as it is to be lived in, and disgusting as it may be 
to over-refined tastes, is yet our world ; these men and 
women, whether in chains and rags, or in purple and fine 
linen, in degradation and dishonor, or in virtue and honor, 
13 



146 



SELF-CONTEOL. 



are our brethren and sisters ; and these duties, whether 
in the church, or the field, or the kitchen, are our work. 
And though we may shut our eyes, and try to live in the 
tasteful, pleasant, and easy limbo of our own folly, yet 
the time must come when we shall be obliged to face the 
actual. We were made to live here, and any fancy which 
diverts us from that destiny is pernicious and absurd. So 
it becomes us to see that the power which makes us ca- 
pable of such grand enjoyment and aspiration does not 
become our master, and destroy every noble result of 
life. 

And even in that part of ourselves which is nearest 
God, our affections, we need self-control. It is true that 
the affections are the noblest part of us, and in a pure and 
healthy state are the natural lawgivers of our life. But 
it is because they are so rarely found in a healthy con- 
dition that they need the guidance of reason. How much 
of our social affection is tainted by a mixture of selfish- 
ness, weakness, or passion. True, these excesses are 
often so attractive, that they are confounded with affec- 
tion itself ; yet are they none the less dangerous. We 
may love our parents in a slavish spirit of obedience ; we 
may love our children to the verge of destructive indul- 
gence ] we may love our friends with a doting fondness 
that confirms them in their errors, and robs them of their 
own peculiar character and energy ; we may mistake a 
sentimental philanthropy for that wise and constant be- 
nevolence due to all men. We need self-control to keep 



SELF-CONTROL. 



147 



©iir affection for man wise, clear, discriminating and far- 
seeing ; for although there is no danger that we love our 
fellow-beings too much, it is possible that we love them 
blindlj, and in many ways that enfeeble them and our- 
selves. And when we approach the divine affections 
which belong to God, and that conscience which is a law 
to the soul, we find the same tendency to immoderate 
activity, and the same necessity for watchfulness. For, 
if the raptures of devotion are not joined to a clear head 
and experience in the practical details of duty, they may 
lead the mind away into the most fearful conditions of 
fanaticism and insanity. We cannot safely love God with- 
out loving all he has made, and obeying all his laws. 
And w^ho does not know that an ignorant and hot-headed 
partisanship may enhst a bewitched conscience as the 
most effective agent in its rash and destructive designs ? 
The conscience, in its healthy, instructed state, is God's 
voice in the soul, and woe to him who does not heed it 
But woe to him, also, who does not know the conditions 
of its healthy action, who mistakes for its sacred dictates 
the blindness of affectional impulse, or the zeal of sec- 
tarian fury. Even the conscience must be watched until 
every power of the mind has been brought to bear upon 
the question of duty, till every fact has been considered 
and comjoared, and arranged, till every prejudice has been 
expelled, and every disturbing influence, whether from 
within or without, put away. Then, when self-control 
holds in its firm hand the balance of conscience, the 



148 



SELF-CONTEOL. 



rising or falling scale is decisive. But how few of us 
have not so disarranged our moral faculties bj sin that 
even our best guide is in danger of misleading us ! Our 
remedy for this is not to pin our faith upon any other 
man, but gradually to regain that power over ourselves 
which will ensure us a true report from this oracle of 
life. 

Thus are we compelled to guard ourselves in every 
direction, — to curb the excess of our appetites, our intel- 
lect, our imagination and affections, even to watch, lest 
some stain of earthly dust fall upon the clear mirror of 
conscience. Our true life comes from such a balancing 
of all our faculties, a well-proportioned activity which 
bears along the whole soul. With a healthy conscience 
and affections at the head, a pure imagination and a well- 
trained intellect to do their bidding, a body of temper- 
ate appetites, and a will which does not falter or storm 
out into wilfulness, we are safe. And when a man has 
thus gained the victory over himself, his great reward is, 
that it becomes every day more possible for him to act 
spontaneously and live out all his desires. For, once 
taught their places, these faculties the less often fly over 
into intemperance. The appetites, by long discipline, 
learn to delight in moderation ; the intellect loses that 
perverse activity which will give the whole universe and 
the soul's highest good as the price of its satisfaction ; the 
imagination goes before the spirit, far enough off to allure, 
and near enough to inspire ; the affections, tempered with 



SELF-CONTROL. 



149 



wisdom, crave only the real good of their object; and heaven 
and earth meet and are reconciled in the religious heart. 
Then the man may perchance forget that he was once 
obliged to go through this weary discipline which brought 
him where he now is ; for every power hastens after its 
proper satisfaction, and, released from the bondage of sin, 
he rejoices in the glorious liberty of the children of God. 

But, my brethren, before we reach that blessed state, 
we have many a hard day to fight through. Only those 
who have come into the possession of themselves can live 
in the full sunshine of God's love. The question now 
with us is, who shall be our master ? For if we do not 
rule ourselves, some man, or prejudice, or appetite, or 
fancy, or fanaticism will rule us. We, who are so jealous 
of our personal rights, are we free from the thraldom of 
ignorance and sin ? We, who are so desirous to make 
our nation the pattern of self-government, do we, its 
citizens, belong to ourselves? Ask yourselves these 
questions, and will not your conscience tell you that you 
yet need self-control, that there are yet wide regions in 
this inner world to be conquered? There is the true 
field for your activity ; for though you may have over- 
come the whole earth, if you are not monarch there, you 
have gained nothing ; and if you do sit upon your own 
spirit's throne, you are subject only to Him before whom 
all things do reverence. 

13^ 



XII. 



EETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 




•* Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." — Matt. 
6: 21. 

These words are from the sermon on tlie mount. The 
great Teacher, after exhorting his hearers to ''lay up 
treasure in heaven," instead of "upon earth," says: — 

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be 
also ;" or, as we might vary the expression, " You will be 
compelled to love earthly or heavenly things according as 
you have placed your thoughts upon one or the other." 
This passage is full of instruction, and I will now endeavor 
to state, illustrate, and apply the truth it contains. The 
truth is, that the quality of our love depends upon our 
own character. If we " lay up treasure in heaven," live 
pure, useful. Christian lives, our hearts will be where our 
treasure is; we shall love God, and good men, and the 
noblest things. If we "lay up treasure upon earth" 
alone, live only for selfish and w^orldly purposes, our hearts 
will also be with our treasure ; we shall love things and 
men unworthy our affection, and become incapable of 
appreciating or enjoying what is better than ourselves. I 



KETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



151 



■wish, after a more complete statement and illustration of 
this fact, to apply it to the case of him who ''lays up 
treasure upon earth." I would show that a bad man is 
punished by being compelled to love what is low and vile; 
that his own conduct destroys his capacity for elevated 
habits of feeling or thought, and makes the very affections, 
which might have been his greatest blessing, his most 
fearful curse. 

To understand the reason of this, we must remember 
that the human soul cannot live without some kind of love. 
Every man has natural affections. God intended that 
these should be directed to Himself and humanity, attract 
the mind to the most worthy objects of thought, and keep 
the will fixed upon the highest course of action. But, 
even if this does not happen, the need to love still remains, 
and these affections cluster about other and unworthy 
objects and persons. Therefore, wicked men and wicked 
habits of life are loved with an attachment as perilous as 
unnatural. A man cannot exist without loving something 
with his whole heart and mind. There is no such monster 
as a human being without affections, great affections. 
Love is life; the capability to love is the capability to 
live ; the depth and purity of love is a sure test of true 
greatness of being. Man cannot banish this need from his 
soul. He may become an angel or a demon, but he must 
then love like an angel or a demon. This one desire 
sways all characters, in all circumstances or moral con- 
ditions. It is a shallow philosophy which teaches that 



152 



RETEIBUTIVE LOVE. 



selfishness is the ruling passion of man. The great desire 
of each soul is to love and be loved, to give itself away and 
receive again the life of another. The selfish man difiers 
from others only in the quality and objects of his affection. 
He bestows himself upon things which he thinks will yield 
him the most speedy and a full return. His selfishness is 
only a diseased form of love. He cannot work in faith, 
like good men, but his craving desire for satisfaction 
makes him hug every possession close to his heart, and 
appropriate all good and beautiful things to himself He 
has not forgotten to love, but he loves falsely. A pro- 
found analysis of human nature, in all its varieties, will 
convince us that this desire is at the bottom of every 
heart, is the necessity of every spirit. And it is a glorious 
prerogative ; for, because we are, by our constitution, 
obliged to love, are we like God. 

The great difference in men is not, therefore, in the 
possession, but the quality of their affections. One con- 
secrates his powers to God and humanity, and loves wisely 
and with a celestial strength and purity ; others, in various 
degrees, do not give themselves to the true purpose of 
life, and are punished by loving basely. Then, among 
those who are true, there is a great variety in the expres- 
sion and objects of their affection. Probably there are not 
two souls in existence who love precisely the same things in 
the same degree. Each spirit selects its company out of 
the whole universe, and creates a heaven of its own liking. 
The objects of human affection are almost infinite in 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



153 



variety ; so the quality of love is the surest test of differ- 
ence between men. 

Now, the question arises, " How far can we control our 
affections?" We have seen that love is a necessity of 
our nature, and its quality a test of our character. Have 
we the power to determine that quality ? Can we say 
whether we will love God, and good men, and lovely 
objects, or do our affections bear us away from our reason, 
and force us to love what they will 7 

There is an opinion, which has become a part of the 
popular philosophy, that a man cannot control his senti- 
ments. It is supposed that the affections are wayward, 
unmanageable, and irresponsible, forcing us to go with 
them, or, at least, rebelliously contending against the 
reason. How often is it said, " I cannot help loving this 
person, or this book, or this mode of life." Indeed, men 
commonly obey their affections as if they were a destiny. 

This popular opinion contains just half the truth, and 
is practically false because it omits the other half It is 
true, in one sense, that we cannot control our love. Most 
men can control the expression of their affections, but no 
human being can say, at any given point of time, " Now 
I will love this person ; now I will love God, and holy 
thoughts, and a good hfe." At each moment of our 
existence we are surrounded by a company of persons and 
objects which we must love, and we have not the power 
at once to change our feehngs. So, in this respect, the 
popular notion is true. We are obliged to love the 



154 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



present objects of our desire by a law of the huma.n mind, 
and we cannot violently change the current of our affec- 
tions. 

But the real question lies behind this: "How came 
we to love these persons and objects 1 Had we any- 
thing to do with producing that condition of mind and 
heart by which we are compelled, for the time, to love in 
a particular direction The answer to this will expose 
the fallacy of the popular opinion. 

Probably our natural structure of mind and temper- 
ament, and the changes produced upon us by causes out 
of our control, have a great influence in determining the 
objects of our affections. These things help to form our 
taste, and decide, in considerable degree, what peculiar 
modifications of the good or beautiful shall attract us. 
There is an almost infinite number of things and persons 
in the universe worthy to be loved ; and the variety of 
constitution in souls enables each spirit to satisfy its desire 
without interfering with others. The heaven of each good 
man is, in some respects, different from that of every 
other; therefore, as far as choice in excellent things is 
concerned, much depends upon causes out of ourselves. 
We cannot radically change our nature, or rearrange the 
faculties of our being. We must accept ourselves for 
better or worse ; and, as far as love depends upon what 
God has made us, accept our loves with gratitude and 
without envy, content to play even an inferior part in His 
creation, if we may promote His glory. 



KETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



155 



But no man is obliged by his constitution, or temper- 
ament, or circumstances not under bis control, to love 
"what is actually evil and unlovely. True, one may be 
born with diseased propensities, and may have been exposed 
to great corrupting influences during youth, which deter- 
mine for a time the quality of his affections. But such a 
person always has a consciousness of his low state, and a 
desire for something higher, strong enough to lead him into 
a better condition, if he will follow it ; and this possibility 
of becoming better determines the whole question in its 
moral aspect. We have the power to follow our best ideal 
of holiness, and, by thus doing, of increasing our capacity 
to love what is excellent and beautiful, as distinguished 
from what is iigly and vile. 

It is not, then, a matter of fate or chance what shall be 
the quality of our affection. The fact that we love God 
and good things depends upon our own character. If we 
follow the truth, devote ourselves to righteousness, cast 
off temptations to selfish and sinful living, we shall become 
good, and cannot help loving what is good and beautiful. 
If we avoid the truth, lose our manhood in a wicked course 
of life, and become the slaves of our own low impulses, 
we must love what is low and like ourselves. I do not 
say that even then we may not admire holiness, and con- 
fess its superiority; but our great love will be "where 
our treasure is." The moral quality of our affections 
thus being dependent upon our character, we have just as 
much control over it as we have over our character. 



156 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



Nobody doubts that he can make himself good or bad, in 
the same sense that he can do anything. We build up 
our characters by our daily thought, speech and conduct, 
and insensibly mould them to the shape they assume; 
therefore we create our own loves in the same way, since 
we love according to what we are. The mistake of the 
popular opinion is in supposing that because we cannot 
instantly change the current of our affections, we have no 
power over them. But the process must be gradual, and 
depends upon a previous change in the character; yet, 
though slow and imperceptible, it is certain. We deter- 
mine the moral quality of our love by everything we think, 
say, or do, — by the whole course of our voluntary exist- 
ence. We can "lay up treasure" where we will, and 

where our treasure is, there will our heart be also." 

Having now attempted to show that we have power 
over our affections, let me explain and illustrate the pro- 
cess by which a man degrades himself, so that his love at 
last becomes his most fearful retribution. 

It is not strange that people should think they have 
little power to direct their affections. The process by 
which this is accomplished is so gradual and indirect that 
few are conscious of it. The character becomes degraded 
imperceptibly, even while the outward appearance of 
decency is preserved. Evil thoughts are admitted to the 
mind, and retained, without the intention of acting in 
accordance with them. Ambitious purposes are revolved 
and brooded over till the soul is inflamed with the lust for 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 157 

power. The desire for great possessions, bj long tolera- 
tion, gets firmly established, and insensibly colors the 
atmosphere through which every object is viewed. Ke- 
venge, contempt, hatred, pride, are secretly cherished, 
half as an occupation for the indolent fancy, and seldom 
with any definite purpose. Sensual and corrupt feelings 
get a lodgement in the heart, distract the intellect, pollute 
the imagination, and undermine the will, while the person 
hardly knows his danger. So with a thousand less tan- 
gible thoughts and sentiments that float through the mind. 
Day after day a new crowd of these foolish, suspicious, or 
wicked guests is entertained, and no harm is apprehended 
while the outward life is yet firm. But each of these 
secret mental indulgences in forbidden things makes its 
mark upon the character, just as every violation of the 
laws of health can be traced, by an acute observer, in the 
face. Little by little the tone of the mind is changed ; 
the intellect goes more lazily to its task- work, and stops 
oftener this side of truth; the imagination dallies with 
pictures of impurity, and degrades the highest objects by 
gross associations; the affections become more restless, 
passionate, and exacting, and do not so often linger about 
what is worthiest. — Every person has two classes of peo- 
ple and things towards which his heart tends. The one his 
reason and his best feelings assure him is deserving his 
affections. He feels elevated by his regard for it, and 
association with it keeps him hopeful, resolute, and faith- 
ful. The other class he loves with a lower passion; 
14 



158 



EETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



thoughts of it unsettle his mind, make him despondent, 
uncertain, reckless, and lead him away from his duty. 
The question, which class of objects shall finally engross 
his affections, is decided by what he has made his own 
character. The person who pursues the course I have 
been describing, at last becomes incapable of living in the 
region of the noblest objects of his admiration. He may 
still acknowledge his obligation, — may, at times, feel an 
intense desire to be worthy of elevated attachments ; but 
his affections have become too sensual to be appeased with 
pure satisfactions. He is below his admiration ; and, in 
spite of his better reason, and occasional efforts to lift him- 
self out of his low state, he is compelled to love and follow 
persons and things which in his very soul he may abhor. 
And this slavery to wicked affections is an awful retri- 
bution, perhaps the worst that can come upon the sinful 
spirit. 

A young man may in this way begin a downward 
course of conduct, which, at the end of a series of years, 
will leave his soul captive in the hands of the lowest 
affections. Let him employ his leisure hours in dissipa- 
tion, or in frivolous conversation, or more frivolous read- 
ing ; let him forget the reverence for honor and perfect 
honesty with which he begun manhood, and gradually go 
over to the practice of those half dishonest tricks by which 
a man may kill his conscience and fill his purse ; let him 
give free admission to every impure thought that comes 
to him, remember and lay up for future use every vulgar 



RETEIBUTIVE LOVE. 



159 



and obscene jest and turn of expression tliat lie may 
chance to hear, and permit his imagination and passions 
to go off into forbidden regions, and drown his whole being 
in the intoxicating desire for wicked pleasure ; let him fix 
his eye upon some post of honor in the gift of the people, 
and determine at all hazards to gain it. He may in this 
way, without openly defying or outraging public senti- 
ment, in a few years produce a total change in his own 
character, and, while yet living in respectable society, 
really love best the lowest persons and things. Such a 
person might ask me, "What have I lost by indulgence 
in these habits of thought and life? Am I not still 
honored and trusted by the community? Why, then, 
talk of retribution, when I am better off than your saint 
yonder, in all worldly respects?" — I would answer: 
"My friend, you have lost everything. Your happiness 
and real success in life do not depend upon the money 
in your pocket, the house you live in, your distinguished 
friends, or the offices you may fill, but upon your own 
power to love the best things. Once you could enjoy the 
company and conversation of noble, truthful, sincere men ; 
now you seek the society of the mean and insincere, who 
will not reproach you for your faults, and will help you 
execute your low projects. Once you felt proud of your 
occupation, and could look the world in the face, and say 
you loved honesty ; now you are able to derive a contempt- 
ible pleasure from overreaching your neighbor. Once you 
felt independent, and loved to think, and speak, and act 



160 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



from your best impulses, and did not care for ambitious 
distinctions ; now you are crazed to get to some post of 
honor, and that love for popularity makes you a coward 
and a slave to the people whom you at once court, deceive, 
and despise. Once you loved the society of pure and 
high-minded women ; now the best among the sex appear 
tiresome or insipid, and you enjoy intercourse with the 
gossipping and frivolous, or those who will best gratify your 
depraved taste. ' What have I lost ? ' do you ask ? Is it 
no loss, then, to cease loving the best and most beautiful 
things in life ? No loss to have your affections gravitate 
irresistibly towards sinful and unlovely objects ? Once 
you could love like an angel, now you love no longer 
thus. Methinks this is loss enough for one soul ! Oh, 
here, my friend, is your retribution ! You have degraded 
yourself, till gradually you have become incapable of holy 
and true affections, and are now given up to the wild, 
passionate, restless feelings which make a bad man's soul 
like an ocean tossed by storms, to which no calm day ever 
comes. Your wicked loves are the evil spirits that inflict 
the punishment due to your transgression." 

And, in like manner, a girl may destroy the beauty 
and strength of her character, till she is compelled to live 
in the same region of life. She may neglect mental cul- 
ture, and regard common labor as somewhat unladylike. 
She may read only books full of sentimental and unnatu- 
ral delineations of life. She may love excitement and 
pleasure better than her home, and be more studious to 



EETKIBUTIVE LOVE. 



161 



gain the compliments of strangers than preserve the attach- 
ment of friends. She may overlook, in a thousand ways, 
preparation for the duties of womanhood. And she might 
ask, "What have I lost by this way of life?" Let me 
tell you what you have lost. " It is the pride and glory 
of a woman that she is capable of stronger, purer and 
more delicate affections than man. And with these great- 
est of Heaven's gifts you have wantonly trifled, till you 
are no longer capable even of appreciating the true dig- 
nity of womanhood. You love the society of those who, 
like yourself, are weak and foolish. You are tired by a 
smart hour's talk from a wise person. You cannot enjoy 
your home. You are wearied with the society of your 
father and mother, your brothers and sisters. You love 
to go abroad, but not in pursuit of refined and elevating 
things ; and would prefer to be the belle of an evening 
party to a sister of charity. You have lost the power of 
loving what every true woman loves most ; have lost that 
delicacy of manner, and instinctive purity of spirit, which 
are the offspring of healthy affections. But your losses 
have only begun in your girlhood. If you do not live in 
better style, you will keep sinking in your unsatisfactory 
life. By-and-by the great want of a woman's soul will 
come ; and when you are called to bestow your affections, 
and give yourself away in marriage, you will love a man 
like yourself: for you will have become incapable of 
attachment to one who might be your true husband, in 
every worthy sense of that relation. No tyrannical father 
14* 



16.2 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



or mother may compel you to such a union, but your own 
feeble mind, and frivolous fancy, and restless and discon- 
tented passions, will put your hand in the hand of a man 
who may give you bread, and shelter, and clothes, but not 
companionship for your spirit. And then you will 
become a mother, and will love your children, not with an 
affection that divines their highest welfare, but with that 
low fondness which exhausts itself in making them pets, 
in spoiling them by vanity and luxury, till your own sin 
blossoms out anew from those plants given you by God to 
water and tend ! Yes, all this you are losing, and will 
lose, in stooping to a life that necessitates a low state of 
the affections. You have gone away from the true path 
of your destiny, and now you must lay down the crown 
of your womanhood, and live in company with your own 
loves. Is not this a retribution, that you might have 
been strong, true and good, capable of such affections as 
are only possible in the soul of a Christian woman, but 
are now condemned to lament your own weakness, and 
weary yourself in the vain attempt to live on the chaff of 
pleasures and excitements, a stranger to the objects of 
your soul's deepest yearnings, — to live without a woman's 
rest in pure affections, a woman's feith in man, a woman's 
trust in God?" 

And you, my friends, who have arrived at an age when 
5^ou should profit by past experience, let me ask you to 
look back upon your lives, think of the occupations in 
which you have engaged, the pleasures you have enjoyed, 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



168 



the success or failure of your schemes, and the changes 
you have outlived, and tell me how much of this seems 
really worth a thought, or worth living for. Will you 
not confess that the only part of your life which is of any 
true value, which you would care to recall or preserve, is 
the love you have felt and received? Is any employment, 
any success, any pleasure, good, unless, in some way, it 
calls out and satisfies the highest affections ? Is not love 
our only actual life, and are we not dead when in any 
other spiritual state ? You must confess it. And now 
let me tell you that whether that love of yours be pure, 
strbng, elevating, and satisfying, depends upon what you 
are, what you make yourselves. You can so behave 
that your very affections shall become a curse, your only 
life a death. But you can so live that they shall be the 
crown of your manhood, and enough in themselves for 
your peace. — For, think of the joy a good man has in his 
loves ; of his tenderness for his children, and his delight 
in seeing them grow up to pure and strong men and 
women ; of all those indescribable pleasures that come to 
him in his own home ; think of his satisfaction in receiv- 
ing the confidence and esteem of his fellow-men ; of being 
respected by the wise and good; — even his compassion 
for the bad is more beautiful than the love of a worse 
man; — think of the strength and peace that he derives 
from intercourse with high thoughts and good resolutions, 
and what a great thing it is to love duty, freedom, purity, 
and all the Christian virtues. And think also that this 



164 



RETRIBUTIVE LOVE. 



man's affections are not confined by time, and space, and 
persons, but range througli the universe, call around him 
the great souls of the past, overleap the gulf of death, and 
look upon the fiices of those who have been called awaj, 
claim a brotherhood -with Jesus the Saviour, and, with 
complete self-surrender, repose upon the omnipotent love 
of God ! He alone it is — this man who can love wisely 
and well — who deserves your admiration, whose lot you ' 
may reasonably desire to share. And you may be like 
him ; for the greatest gift of our Heavenly Father is the 
power to love ; and of all gifts is it the most common. 
Other blessings come with partial distribution ; this alone 
is universal. And you, the humblest soul, in spite of the 
lack of opportunity, may so live that by sheer strength 
of love alone you may create for yourself a heaven more 
grand and beautiful than a poet's dream ; a heaven full 
of the presence of Him who is God, because He is the 
Almighty Love. Cease, then, to complain for what you 
have not, when you have the only reality ; and begin now 
to "lay up treasure where neither moth nor rust corrupt, 
and where thieves do not break through nor steal;" and, 
after a life worthily spent, your recompense shall be that 
" where your treasure is, there will your heart be also," 



XIII. 



KEWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 



*' Verily I say unto you, they have tkeir reward" — Matt. 6 : 16. 

These words were spoken concerning the hypocrites, 
by Jesus Christ, in the Sermon on the Mount. He warns 
his disciples against their habit of wearing a sad counte- 
nance, and disfiguring their faces, that they might " appear 
unto men to fast;" and says concerning them, " Yerily I 
say unto you. They have their reward." 

What this reward was to be, Jesus did not distinctly 
inform his hearers, doubtless supposing their own observa- 
tion and reflection would suggest the result of such hypoc- 
risy. And the same spectacle, not only of hjrpocrisy, but 
of all kinds of wickedness, often appears now ; and the 
Saviour's words, ''They have their reward," apply as 
forcibly to sinners of our day as to those of ancient Judea. 
And we also are left to infer from our own investigation in 
what this retribution consists. 

It is not always an easy matter to decide upon this 
point. That a wicked man does, sooner or later, suffer 
the results of his evil doing, is a fact established by rev- 
elation and all human experience; so well established 



166 REWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 

that he who walks deliberately into transgression goes in 
the face of one of the moral certainties of existence. But 
when we attempt to understand the process of retribution^ 
we are confused hj the apparent contradiction of facts, 
and by their disagreement with certain ideas of punish- 
ment in our own minds. Indeed, the main cause of our 
uncertainty is, that we have fixed upon some way of retri- 
bution as the most appropriate to the case we are consid- 
ering, and think the person escapes unless he suffers in 
precisely this manner. But nothing can be more foolish 
than for us to dictate God in this way. The infinite jus- 
tice is directed by infinite love and wisdom, and is as supe- 
rior to our justice in certainty, efficiency, and the com- 
mand of resources, as the heavenly government surpasses 
any code of earthly legislation. We cannot understand 
all the modes by which a bad man receives his reward. 
But this we know, that he who sins steps out of the 
benevolent order of nature, and arrays against himself 
everything good and true in the universe. He is pun- 
ished in his afflictions and in his pleasures, in his successes 
and his failures, openly and secretly. He cannot escape 
his retribution by any change of circumstances. As he 
who lives in an atmosphere impregnated with deadly 
malaria can by no course of diet or exercise avoid its. 
debilitating influence, but must go to another climate or 
lose his health, so the sinner must suffer while in his sins, 
and his only release will come on the day when he for- 
sakes them. 



EEWARD 01^ THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 167 



There is one fact in tliis subject of retribution which 
staggers many honest minds. It is that the •worldly and 
wicked often seem more prosperous and successful than 
the religious. The wealth, the learning, the power, and 
the reputation of the world are by no means in the pos- 
session of its best men. Why is this ; and how, in such 
a state of things, can these bad and worldly people be said 
to "have their reward"? Leaving the general topic of 
retribution, as too broad for present discussion, let us now 
examine this particular fact, and endeavor to account for 
it in a manner consistent with the certainty of divine 
justice. 

To comprehend this truth aright, we must go back to 
a statement of the law of human activity. This law may 
be very simply stated and illustrated. It is, that there 
are certain conditions of success in every kind of labor, 
and the man who complies with them will succeed, will 
obtain the legitimate results of the kind of energy he has 
expended, as Jesus Christ says, ^ ' he will havQ his re- 
ward." — There is a path to the acquisition of a fortune. 
Money does not come to a man by accident in the way of 
business. If we knew the history of the men who have 
acquired large wealth, we should see that they succeeded 
by complying with certain conditions. Rothschild, Girard, 
Astor, were not more fortunate than others, — they were 
men of great intellectual power, which they turned exclu- 
sively in one direction. They knew how money was to be 
obtained, and were willing and able to do what was neces- 



168 REWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 



sary. So thej " had their reward ; " that is, they gained 
a vast amount of worldly possessions. 

A man may obtain political dia^ction if he has the 
ability, and will comply with all the conditions. Of 
course, it requires the entire devotion of his powers and 
life ; especially, in a republic, he must be a watchful and 
able man, who can anticipate all the moods of the people, 
and always keep himself in an agreeable attitude before 
them. I am not now saying what will become of his 
soul if he complies with all the conditions of obtaining 
power; only that, if he does, he " will have his reward," 
— will get power. 

So with the scholar, the artist, the mechanic. These 
men, if not deficient in the requisite ability, by faithful 
compliance with the conditions of success, will ''have 
their reward," — the one in knowledge, the others in 
artistic and mechanical skill. And just so in the con- 
cerns of the soul, of rehgion. He who would be a good 
man must use the means God has appointed. He cannot 
become a saint by accident or miracle, but must build up, 
day by day, a strong and holy character. If he is willing 
to endure the toil of the religious life, he '' will have his 
reward" in the possession of love, peace and joy, surpass- 
ing all earthly gifts. 

Now this is what we see in every day's experience ; 
the man who has given himself exclusively to business, 
understandingly, becoming rich; the partisan politician 
becoming popular; the studious man becoming a scholar ; 



REWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 169 



the devoted artist and mechanic becoming famous in their 
profession, — each man gaining his reward." This is 
reasonable, and according to the laws of success made by 
God. 

But here it is that we fall into error and lose our confi- 
dence in the divine justice. We have formed a theory, 
according to w^hich the religious man is to receive all 
these good things — money, power, skill, and worldly 
success in general — as the reward of his life. Thus 
thinking, w^e naturally expect to see the bad man defeated 
in his attempts to gain such possessions ; and, if he does 
succeed, though he may have complied with every neces- 
sary condition, we are disappointed, and regard him as 
enjoying things to which he has no right. A little reflec- 
tion will convince us of our mistake. The rewards of the 
religious man are not and cannot be wealth, povfer, skill, 
and worldly success. He aims only at the attainment of 
a pure and lofty Christian character, and pursues that 
object, to the neglect of everything which interferes with 
it. His reward is, therefore, what he seeks ; — a peace- 
ful, devout, and benevolent heart, and a life pleasing to 
God and useful to man. This, if faithful, he obtains, and 
becomes a Christian, and is admitted to the honorable 
toils, the ennobling sorrows, and the inspiring hopes and 
joys of the religious life. He has no right to ask more 
than this. If God chooses to give him, in addition^ 
riches, station, reputation, and what the world calls pros- 
perity, he should be grateful, and use these gifts for the 
15 



170 EEWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND EIGHTEOUS. 



good of himself and his fellow-beings. Yet otherYvise he 
is justly dealt with. And the worldly man has justice 
done him ; he obtains his reward. He has sought the good 
things of this hfe exclusivelj, and obtained them ; and, 
instead of being envious at his success, we should wish he 
might receive all the happiness to be derived from the full 
enjoyment of such acquisitions. 

So God's justice is vindicated in giving to each man his 
reward. But here it is that the retribution of sin ap- 
pears, in the nature of these rewards. Success alone is 
not desirable, independently of the quality of the thing 
acquired. A man is not to be envied because he has 
obtained what he desires, unless that thing, when obtained, 
will satisfy him. The only test of the worth of a posses- 
sion of any kind is its power to give satisfaction to the 
deepest wants of the soul. It may amuse the possessor, 
may, for a time, gratify one extravagant desire, may 
appease some craving mental appetite, may, in ordinary 
times, appear very desirable and beautiful ; but the test is, 
will it answer to all his needs as a human being, a child 
of God, a brother of man, a laboring, tempted, sinful, 
longing spirit in this world, and the heir of an immortal 
existence hereafter ? Will it give him comfort when the 
world denies it ? Can he live alone with it ? Can he sit 
by the death-bed of his friend with it, or look sickness, 
doubt, and weariness in the face cheerfully by its power 7 
Now, as certainly as a man lives does he have these wants, 
and, sooner or later, he will become conscious of them. 



EEWARD OF THE WOELDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 171 

Therefore, the test of real success in life is not whether 
he has become as rich as Astor, or the President of the 
United States, or a great scholar, or artist, but ^Yhether 
he has gained that which will satisfy these ever-present 
needs of his soul, — wants which cannot be put by, but 
grow more clamorous by refusal, and increase in magni- 
tude with every new epoch in the immortal life. 

Let us, therefore, examine the several rewards of 
worldly men by this test, and we shall be convinced that 
they have received their punishment in their reward. 

The rich man — he whose grand object in life has been 
to acquire wealth — has he gained that which will entirely 
satisfy his soul ? I would ask him. Do you find in your 
money that perfect satisfaction which makes you think 
there is nothing better in existence ? These possessions 
are good ; they give you many opportunities for enjoy- 
ment ; but, even on this ground, do they not also involve 
you in a corresponding net of cares and vexations ? Then, 
when you are tempted to do wrong, will your money help 
you resist ? When you are sick, can gold give you health ?- 
When death comes to your door, will wealth bribe him to 
go away ? Can a million dollars purchase the love of one 
human heart ? Can it cheat your conscience out of one 
pang of remorse ? Can it enlighten your mind with one 
new truth 1 Can it stand to you in place of the mighty 
love of God, and the hope of immortal life ? No ; it can 
do none of these things. Then, your reioard is your 
retribution. If you have lived only to get this, your life 



172 REWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 



has been a failure, since, even in the enjoyment of your 
acquisitions, all the great enduring wants of your nature 
remain unsatisfied. 

The man who has sought only power, and has obtained 
it, has he gained this satisfaction for his deepest needs 
which is the test of real success ? If the testimony of 
every ambitious man may be received, he has not. None 
of the great conquerors, tyrants, or selfish statesmen of 
the past ever pretended to be satisfied. They were more 
uneasy at the summit of their greatness than at any step 
of the path leading to it, and many of them were over- 
thrown in the insane efibrt to grasp more of that which 
only crazed them. If you would find peace, you must 
look elsewhere than into the soul of an ambitious man ; 
and his reward is only new fuel thrown upon the devour- 
ing flame of his godless passion. 

And, certainly, no skill of hand or mind can satisfy 
these wants of human nature. The architect who lives 
only in his temple, the artist whose thought ranges no 
higher than creations upon the canvas or in marble, are 
not men to be envied. The old Greek fable contained a 
Christian truth, which related that a sculptor wrought a. 
female statue so beautiful that his soul was fired with love 
for it, and he entreated the gods to give it life, and it was 
changed to a woman, whom he married. It was love 
alone which could satisfy his heart. And every artist, or 
creator with hand or mind, comes at last to the same point, 
where he would give all his skill for one response of human 



KEWABD OF THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 173 

affection, or one assurance of the love of God. And 
knowledge cannot satisfy. Her rewards are doubt, unrest, 
and the fever of the intellect, unless faith and love hold 
her in that servitude which is her highest glory. Tried, 
then, by the only unfailing test, what are these rewards 
of worldly men ? Not one of them, at its best, can satisfy 
the meanest human soul that was ever created. They 
have their uses ; they are not to be despised as the helps 
of life, and are to be pursued as means and opportunities ; 
but their use is not to usurp the place of God ; and he 
who can only point to one or all of them as the result of 
his life has signally failed, and has yet to look for the true 
satisfaction of his nature ; and the most melancholy thing 
that can be said of him is what Jesus said of the hypocrites, 
— Verily I say unto you he has his reward^ 

Compare with these the rewards of the religious man, 
and the contrast will show, even more fully, the insuffi- 
ciency of the former. The Christian has proposed for the 
aim of life nothing less than a character moulded by love 
to God and love to man, and the pursuit of riches, power, 
skill, or worldly success, has been kept in subordination to 
this grand purpose. And by faithful compliance with the 
conditions of holiness he has at last obtained his reward — • 
the love of truth and the practice of virtue for th^ir own 
sake. And he has secured a lasting possession, over 
which earthly accidents have no power, and which will be 
his through eternity. For in what emergency of doubt 
can he fail to be enlightened by the wisdom that comes 



174 EEWARD OP THE WORLDLY AND RIGHTEOUS. 

from on higli 1 And he fights against temptation with 
God's own strength, and leans on a heavenly aid in his 
weariness and sorrow. His losses are forgotten in his 
one great gain; even his dying friends make more real 
the presence of his Father, and the prospect of his own 
dissolution is but the more vivid sight of the immortal 
life. He has secured that which will serve him in every 
possible strait, and every common experience — love to 
God, which lifts him out of the distracting cares of this 
world, and makes him act like one above his work, and 
not involved in it ; love to man, which is the assurance 
that no duty will be neglected, and no human relation 
despised. How different our meaning when we say of 
him, ^'he hath his reward," from the significance of the 
same words as applied before ! The one speaks of a tem- 
porary and partial acquisition, good only as it prepares for 
something better, and wholly unable to appease the divine 
need of any soul ; the other is the acquirement of that 
which is in itself the best, and imparts to everything else 
a double value. The success of the worldly man is a fail- 
ure, in every high sense; the success of the Christian is 
the fulfilment of the soul's true destiny. 

Thus, my brethren, are the paths opened before you. 
You understand the conditions of success ; you know that 
money, power, skill, worldly reputation can be secured if 
you accept the toil and risk of their attainment ; you 
know, also, that if not sought with a supreme desire, they 
may come, given by Providence ; and that unless used in 



EEWARD OF THE WORLDLY AND EIGHTEOUS. 175 



a religious spirit, thej are never blessings, but curses. 
So, before you give your soul entirely to any of these, 
know what you do. You will have your reward ; but 
such a reward as will find you poor, exceeding poor, in 
what is the true worth of life. But there is one reward, 
given to them who deserve it by consecration and life- 
long effort, which is truly the gift of God and the joy of 
the soul. Secure this, and you will have no reason to 
envy the possessions of worldly men ; for this is the only 
true riches ; this is the power of God unto salvation ; 
this the skill that can shape a holy life ; this the fame 
which outlasts the world ; this the only success by virtue 
of which you can say, with Jesus, at the end of your 
mortal years, I have finished the work thou hast given 
me to do;" and this the reward which shall be your 
crown of rejoicing in heaven, and your assurance of a 
glory that will endure as long as the being of God. 



XIY, 



MANNERS. 



*' Be kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love ; in 
honor preferring one another." — Rom. 12 : 10. 

Theke has never been a time when men did not con- 
sider good manners worth the labor of acquiring. The 
first books of history or poetry in which social life is 
described contain their authors' opinion of the qualities 
which constitute the true gentleman and lady. These 
opinions have varied in different ages and states of soci- 
ety ; but, whatever may have been the ideas of men upon 
the constituents of politeness, there never was a dispute 
as to the desirableness of the thing itself The most sav- 
age nation has its standard of proper and graceful behav- 
ior, no less than the most civilized; probably a savage 
or barbarous people is more influenced by engaging per- 
sonal qualities than any other. Each nation of which we 
have accounts in history has had its own ideal of man- 
ners, and respected it whenever it was realized in any 
individual. In proportion to the progress of mankind in 
knowledge, virtue, and refinement, the ideal of graceful 
action has clianged; but its value has always remained 
undisputed. And even a superficial glance over modern 



MANNERS. 



17T 



life Vfill prove the importance now attached to politeness. 
There is no country, pretending to be civilized and chris- 
tianized, where it is not regarded an object of laudable 
ambition to be called a true gentleman or lady ; indeed, 
there is a large class in every community whose chief 
occupation is the cultivation of the external graces ; who 
pretend to constitute the court of judgment in all disputes 
about the proprieties, and assume to hold the keys of 
admission to good society. There is a literature of man- 
ners, and a code of morals depending upon artificial sys- 
tems of politeness ; and few of us are, or care to be, free 
from anxiety as to how we shall appear in the eyes of our 
fellow-men. 

This respect for graceful behavior is natural to man. 
It is one way in which he manifests his love for beauty. 
Every human soul, after its own fashion, loves what is 
beautiful ; and perhaps the most common method by which 
this affection is shown is in the instinctive desire to appear 
agreeable. Therefore Christianity has something to do 
with manners ; for one important element of the Christian 
character is the appreciation of beauty ; and the outward 
habits of our life cannot be separated from our inward 
thought and feeling. One office of every church. Hea- 
then, Jewish, or Christian, has been the censorship of 
public manners ; and each has had its standard of individ- 
ual excellence in this respect. While the various nations 
of Pagans have appealed to the example of their heroes 
and deities, and the Jew can point to men like Jonathan 



178 



MANNERS. 



and Solomon, tlie CKristian is forbidden to aim at any 
lower standard of behavior than that taught by the words 
and illustrated by the life of Jesus Christ. When we 
fully understand the character of our Great Instructor, 
we shall know that he was not only a pattern for us in 
religious opinion and action, but in his e very-day deport- 
ment. The New Testament is our guide to holiness, but 
no less the best guide to good manners. St. Paul had an 
idea of what a Christian gentleman and lady should be,- 
and the remarks on this subject scattered through his 
epistles, though partaking occasionally of the notions then 
prevalent in respect to the relations between man and 
woman, are, in the main, worthy our attentive perusal. 
In the passage I have selected for my text he very hap- 
pily states the Christian doctrine of politeness : ''Be 
kindly affectioned one to another, with brotherly love ; in 
honor preferring one another." Whoever will study this 
sentence, and live up to it, may spare himself the labor 
of reading manuals of good behavior ; for he may qualify 
himself thereby to move with perfect propriety in any 
circle of truly refined and cultivated people. 

In order to comprehend the superiority of the Christian 
code of manners, we should first understand what relation 
outward habits bear to character. When speaking of 
manners, I mean all modes by which we hold communica- 
tion with others. Politeness includes conversation, and 
the conscious 'or unconscious gestures of the body through 
which our minds are expressed. And these things are so 



MANNERS. 



179 



intimately related to others, that a correct definition of 
manners would include or imply our Tvhole visible life, 
whetheyr in solitude or in society. 

Now there is a vital relation between this outward vis- 
ible life and the character. Indeed, the former is only 
the expression of the latter. The body, and everything 
done by its instrumentality, is a correct type of the soul. 
God has so made us that we must reveal the equality of 
our spirit. It does not remain with us to say whether 
we will or will not comply with his purpose. He forces 
us to do it. So the manners and person are what the 
soul makes them. This fact may be doubted by super- 
ficial observers. Many persons form their estimate of a 
man's character from a small portion of his manners, — ■ 
the expression of his face, the style of his conversation, 
or the ease of his movements ; and, being deceived, think 
these things no real test of the inner life. The mistake is, 
that their field of observation has not been wide enough. 
To know a man's character from his outward appearance, 
we must note every peculiarity; not only his physical 
organization and temperament, but all his habits of life ; 
must oversee him when he thinks himself alone, in every 
variety of company, and in different positions. In short, 
to know him well, we must know all his habits. Of 
course, we can hardly expect to be so comprehensive in 
our examination of any person; and even if we were, 
much would depend upon our own insight and judgment; 
for our interpretation of his manners would depend upon 



180 



MANNERS. 



our ideas of life. Therefore it is always hazardous to 
pronounce decisive judgment upon a person from the most 
careful examination of his outward behavior, since we may 
either omit or give a wrong meaning to somie important 
class of phenomena. The truest knowledge we have of 
each other comes by direct intuition. It is the peculiar 
privilege of love that it unlocks the secrets of the human 
soul. If I truly love a man or woman, I penetrate at once 
to their character, and interpret their manners by what I 
thus know of the spirit. But we must never forget that 
no being except God knows any person entirely. The best 
human estimates of character are fallible and incomplete. 
Only to the Father in heaven does the soul appear as it 
is, with its present character enclosing what it shall be, 
its best manifestation but the hint of its in-finite capacity. 
Yet, however difficult it may be to estimate character 
from manners, there can be no doubt that the outward 
man is the exact type of the inner. Every act, word, and 
gesture, is a publication of our most secret life ; and the 
only reason why we are not perfectly known is because 
men are not competent to interpret the meaning of these 
signs. 

It is a fact full of instruction that our manners are 
shaped by our character ; that such a thing as hypocrisy, 
in its real sense, is impossible. You cannot, my friends, 
hide yourselves, however much you choose to do it. God 
knows you entirely. Other spirits, according to their 
purity, power, and delicacy of perception, know you, and 



MANNERS, 



181 



the best people understand you best from your actions 
and appearance. You may think it possible to go on liv- 
ing a low, wicked life, and still preserve the form of good- 
ness ; perhaps you may be considered a gentleman or a 
lady by people like yourself. But let a sincere person 
encounter you, and everything you say and do will be to 
him a revelation of your degradation. He will read your 
character in the tone of your voice, the expression of your 
face, and the shape and attitudes of your body ; in your 
most trifling remarks, no less than your studied conversa- 
tion ; and by a certain nameless influence which always 
hangs about a bad man, and forces his vulgarity, base- 
ness, and ignorance to appear evident through the most 
polished and artificial habits, God has decreed that a 
wicked soul cannot hide itself, even within its own body, 
from the disapprobation of holy men and pure spirits. 
The manners are created by the character, and, to one 
competent to estimate them, exactly express its quality. 

This being true, it follows that the foundation of a gen- 
uine code of manners must be laid in human nature. 
True politeness cannot be taught by artificial rules, or 
learned by imitation of agreeable habits ; but is the spon- 
taneous expression of a pure and benevolent soul. Then, 
whoever would reform the behavior of men must begin 
with the character, implanting there the germs of good- 
ness and refinement, and leaving them to spring up, and 
flower into the natural growth of a beautiful outward life. 

Christianity, of all systems of religion, or social theo- 
16 



182 



MANNERS. 



ries, complies with this condition. And its value as a 
doctrine of manners is tested as well hj what it does not 
as by what it does enjoin. There are natural differences 
in men, in power of intellect, capacity for affection, and 
susceptibility to refined impressions. Whether a person 
shall be distinguished for an original deyelopment in any 
of these directions depends much upon his conformation. 
To become a gentleman or lady, in the highest sense, 
requires an artistic appreciation and creative power with 
which few are gifted. A love for beauty often appears in 
this way ; and the genius which, in a differently oi'gan- 
ized mind, would have written a poem, painted a picture, 
or built a temple, may charm us through manners at once 
significant and graceful. Such differences as these Chris- 
tianity teaches us to accept as part of the providence of 
God, and only gives rules to direct in that sphere of 
action where we have power to effect important results. 
And this sphere includes the whole common ground of 
manners and morals. All men and women cannot acquire 
that politeness which charms by its artistic beauty ; but 
all can obey those spiritual conditions upon which the 
possession of agreeable manners depends. No person is 
compelled to be a slave to habits decidedly offensive, for 
it is impossible that he who lives a true Christian life 
should fail to interest men by his deportment. 

The foundations of good manners, then, are the founda- 
tions of good morals. The same traits of character which 
make us reliable, pure, and benevolent, shape our habits 



MANNERS. 



183 



9f life, and impart to them an attractive quality. There 
can be no politeness where there is no religious culture, 
for all its elements are the Christian virtues. One impor- 
tant quality in politeness is frankness ; and how can a 
man be open and free in his manners who is selfish at 
heart ? His meanness will shine through any mask he 
may use to conceal it. Another element of politeness is 
a desire to prefer the convenience of others to our own ; 
and who can long continue to do this, unless he is 
" kindly alfectioned towards " his fellow-men, regarding 
them with -'brotherly love"? A cringing, obsequious 
manner to superiors at once declares a man no gentleman ; 
but how are we to assume a self-respect which is not in 
our souls ? If we have the disposition of slaves instead 
of that ''liberty wherewith Christ has made us free," we 
must have the manners of slaves. Dehcacy is a most 
important part of genuine politeness ; but a sensual man, 
whose thoughts are in a constant state of debauchery, 
cannot behave with dehcacy. If he sits still, and does 
not open his mouth, the evil thing will look out at every 
crevice in his body. Arrogance of manner is universally 
detestable ; but the man who, in imagination, has his foot 
upon the necks of half his fellow-creatures, will hardly 
respect their rights in conversation or in social intercourse. 
So we might continue to analyze politeness into its con- 
stituent parts, and each of these we should find rooted 
in some quality of the Christian character, and incapable 
of growth in any other soil. Indeed, Jesus Christ laid 



184 



MANNERS. 



the foundation of all genuine social intercourse when he 
said, ^'Thoii shalt love thy neighbor as thy self. 

Here, then, my friends, is the true way of acquiring 
good manners. If you really love your fellow-men, and 
endeavor to treat them with that respect and affection 
which is due from a Christian to every one of God's chil- 
dren, you will be at no loss for modes of expression. You 
may be conscious of natural deficiencies in conversational 
power, presence of mind, or grace of personal appearance ; 
but your desire to please others will help you overcome 
these deficiencies, as far as your opportunities and nature 
will permit; and your self-respect will keep you from 
assuming habits which are unnatural, or complaining that 
more pleasing gifts are not bestowed upon you. It is 
astonishing how natural defects of feature, form, voice, 
and presence, disappear before the power of a true and 
loving spirit. Genuine strength and benevolence of mind 
will make itself known even through the most ordinary 
person. It tunes the voice to a peculiar sweetness and 
intonation, inspires the bashful at least with an occasional 
boldness, imparts significance to common words, and often 
makes awkwardness and embarrassment appeal more 
strongly to our hearts than perfect grace and assurance* 
You may never fear to encounter any person, if your 
heart is right. Love to God and man will give you con- 
fidence to appear before your superiors, and attract those 
beneath you. It will be your excuse for the neglect 
of artificial forms, and compel those who meet you to 



MANITERS. 



185 



acknowledge that the only real gentleman is he whose 
love for mankind shines through his daily walk and con- 
versation. 

But when we attempt to live up to this Christian stand- 
ard of behavior, we come in contact with a code of artificial 
manners, w^hich pretends to all the propriety, and assumes, 
under the name of fashion, to exclude non-conformers 
from w^hat is called good society. It is, therefore, impor- 
tant that we understand the position which a Christian 
gentleman or lady should assume towards the fashionable 
world. 

We may gain some light upon this question by an 
examination of the code of manners which thus demands 
our respect. What is fashion? It is a very complex 
thing, and it would require more time and skill to analyze 
it completely than I have now at command. But, in gen- 
eral terms, I can say that fashion is the attempt to real- 
ize politeness, without a clear comprehension of its nature 
and conditions. All persons feel the value and beauty of 
good manners ; though but a small part of mankind know 
that it is an impossibility to produce them in the absence 
of the Christian character. Those who do not understand 
this imagine that politeness can be taught. Certain 
actions, forms of speech, and habits of dress, are observed 
to appear graceful and becoming upon particular individ- 
uals. Hence it is concluded that the same things will 
be equally beautiful if assumed by everybody. So this 
form gets elevated to a social law, and all persons, how- 
16* 



186 



MANNEES. 



ever ill adapted for the operation, are required to speak^ 
dress, and behave accordingly. Here is the cardinal 
error of fashion. It overlooks the distinction between the 
outward and inward. It is right in thinking that good 
manners are desirable, right in its admiration of grace 
and beauty ; but wrong in supposing that these forms of 
speech, dress, and behavior, which are beautiful as the 
natural expression of individual character, will be so when 
worn merely as an outside show. Roses, grapes, and cher- 
ries are beautiful, growing upon rose-bushes, grape-vines, 
and cherry-trees. But if Vy^e twine wreaths around, and 
stick branches and clusters of fruit into a dead stump, it 
will only remain a stump, and the flowers will wither, and 
the grapes and cherries decay and drop off. And equally 
absurd would be the taste that would engraft these flowers 
and fruits into foreign trunks, for the result would not be 
beautiful, but simply curious and monstrous. If we could 
imagine a forest of such trees, decked out with garlands, 
and plucked and grafted fruits, vie should have an accurate 
type of the world of fashion ; and the difference between 
fashionable society and a community of real gentlemen 
and ladies is the same as between these acres of dead and 
decorated trunks, and the noble woods of Berkshire. For 
in this strange world of fashion we are constantly shocked 
by the disagreement between the outward and inward. 
A man who needs a great deal of benevolence and honesty 
to redeem his natural awkwardness, attempts to behave 
with the grace of Apollo, and makes himself ridiculous. 



MANNERS. 



18T 



A narrow, selfish aristocrat tries to let himself down, to 
become for the time your equal, and you despise him more 
for the attempt than for what he is. A coarse, impure 
man covers his unclean body with elegant apparel, and 
tries to be the friend of pure, delicate women, with about 
the same result as if a smith, with his sledge, and anvil, 
and great furnace, should attempt to construct a necklace 
of gold and diamonds. So, instead of the habits of these 
persons being a manifestation of their natures, they are, 
to a great extent, false, dishonest, and positively ungrace- 
ful, from their want of significance and adaptation. I am 
not ignorant of the supposed advantages resulting from 
such a condition of things. I will allow that, on the 
whole, a greater outward decency is preserved in society, 
as it now is, than if we were all obliged to ' ' show our 
colors;" but what is this decency but the worst sham of 
the whole, deceiving no man of real sagacity, and delud- 
ing those who otherwise might be persuaded to live sin- 
cere lives ? I am not disposed to rail blindly at popular 
manners. I think there is more truth in them than many 
suppose; and I know well enough that a genuine man 
can, even now, assume his own style of behavior, in spite 
of them. I understand how difficult it is to treat so com- 
plex a subject fairly ; and how often, in our contempt for 
the folly, we overlook the real beauty and worth of many 
of our customs. But any man who looks at the fashion- 
able world from a Christian point of view must find, in 
spite of all his charity, abundant cause for disapprobation 



188 



MANNEKS. 



and pity, if not for mirth. If any human being deserves 
compassion, it is the slave of this idol, upon ^'hose altars 
are offered daily oblations of virtue, beauty, and common 
sense. To feel oneself chained to a particular style of 
dress, — becoming or ugly, and to a certain mode of hving, 
ho-^ever ill it niay accord with the taste or income : to be 
obliged to angle for the good will of people you do not 
love : to submit to the anxiety, humiliation, and self-con- 
tempt of dependence for your position in society on the 
whim of persons distinguished for nothing gi'eat and good, 
— this is a sorrowful spectacle. If the Hves of the mar- 
tyrs of fashionable life could be accurately written, I 
doubt not we should find there examples of endurance, 
patience, and persistence, equal to any records in Fox, or 
the history of missions. This is the most melancholy 
thing about fashion, — that the same power of mind, solici- 
tude, and perseverance now expended to make a man a 
fool, might raise him to an enviable position as a Christian 
gentleman. 

You certainly will not accuse me, in this criticism, of 
disparaging elegance of manners, or a generous and culti- 
vated style of domestic arrangements. That elegance 
which is the natural expression of a refined soul is beauti- 
ful : and I think those economists who would reduce us 
to a style of v^dmitive simplicity in Hying are wide of the 
truth, x^either do I assert that the present social forms 
are a tissue of absurdities. They are a mixture of good 
and evil, perhaps contain more good than evil. And this 



MANNERS. 



189 



fact is an irresistible argument against that style of man- 
ners which, under the name of simplicity and sincerity, 
only gains opportunity to indulge in low tastes and ill- 
natured conversation. This affectation is worse than the 
former ; for if a man must be foolish, he should, out of 
compassion to humanity, go off in some beaten track, and 
not invent a new folly to plague the race. It is not 
necessary that a religious man or woman should take a 
position entirely at odds with society, or force his own 
singularities in an offensive manner upon others. There 
are many social forms which are almost unobjectionable, 
though not exactly what they should be ; and respect for 
the feelings of others, and common prudence, would teach 
us to comply with them. But there are those which are 
positively bad and absurd, to which no Christian gentle- 
man or lady can yield, without a surrender of moral 
power and character. A dignified and honest spirit of 
independence will enable us to reject such forms, and still 
preserve the respect of persons who value their sense 
above their popular reputation. It is the last degree of 
weakness to submit to an abuse of this kind from fear of 
pubhc scandal. If we are not strong enough to endure a 
little talk from persons whose opinions we do not value, 
for the sake of true, pure, and beautiful manners, we are 
not fit to retain a responsible position in society. A man 
or woman who cannot be laughed at for the sake of a 
principle in social life will hardly stand the fire of the 
great enemy of souls in other things. I sometimes hear 



190 



MANNERS. 



good people saj they do not wish to make themselves 
conspicuous by opposing the popular fashions. It is not 
well to parade our peculiarities unnecessarily; but, if 
such a principle were logically carried out, I wonder 
where virtue and truth would be. In any age this world 
ever saw, a man could neither preserve his truth, purity, 
or taste, without becoming conspicuous in a degree ; and 
to confess that we care more for the opinion of the infe- 
rior part of mankind than for the interests of true social 
success, is a humihation, methinks, somewhat greater than 
the shame of any notoriety which we might encounter in 
the way of duty. But the issue is not fairly made 
between conformity and startling singularity. It is pos- 
sible to assume manners at once agreeable to good taste, 
free from obtrusiveness, and distinguished by that sim- 
plicity and directness v/hich put down scandal, unless it is 
too shameless to deserve notice. Such a course is prob- 
ably the best for Christian men and women ; compliance 
with established forms as far as can be without sacrifice 
of principle, the rejection of those which are objectiona- 
ble, and the adoption of more fitting ones in their place ; 
all done in a spirit as courteous as it is determined. Thus 
every follower of Jesus Christ may become, not only an 
exemplar of virtue, but an instructor in good manners. 

It is nothing to the point to plead that this cannot be 
done. I know, a weak person, whose chief occupation is 
watching the great weathercock on the temple of fashion, 
cannot do it. But a true and pure man or woman can, 



MANNERS. 



191 



and will. Every really great and good person, I know, 
of either sex, does this. And what a relief it is to come 
out of the society of people caged in artificial forms to 
theirs, you can testify. Their politeness is not a round 
of meaningless ceremonies, but the utterance, through 
word, act, and expression, of a truthful mind, an affection- 
ate heart, and a refined taste. In their company we are 
not every moment reminded of our ignorance of good soci- 
ety, or anxious to keep out of the way of ridicule. We 
forget ourselves, and do not know that we have a reputa- 
tion to sustain ; for the best faculties of our nature are 
called out by the presence of worthy objects, and we are 
swept on by the stream of entertaining and elevating con- 
versation and conduct, and compelled unconsciously to be 
as graceful as the rest. In the homes of these people 
politeness is an invisible atmosphere of kindness, smooth- 
ing the rough edges of domestic life, assigning to each his 
place, and merging the interest and enjoyment of one in 
the highest pleasure and profit of the whole. To be the 
master or mistress of such a home is a worthy object of 
Christian ambition ; for there alone is seen the true rela- 
tion between the heart and the manners; there every 
generous thought becomes a deed ; and a great, pure, and 
beautiful soul shapes life to its own image, and makes of 
the household a type of heaven. 



XY. 



USE OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



"Not slothful in business ; fervent in spirit ; serving the Lord.'*, 
— Rom. 12: 11. 

These words contain the opinion of the great apostle upon 
the relation between business and religion. He did not, 
like some modern preachers, place this world and its nec- 
essary employments in constant antagonism to the future. 
He did not tell the Romans that they must despise their 
ordinary occupations, hate the present state of existence, 
and devote their time to the anticipation of a better condi- 
tion of being. But he exhorts them no less to faithfulness 
in this life than to preparation for another; and shows them " 
that Christianity consists in obedience to present duty, as 
well as in expectation of future happiness. And, in the 
words quoted for a text to this discourse, he instructs the 
readers of his epistle in the true nature of service to God. 
To serve God is not only to be "fervent in spirit," but 
also, -'not slothful in business." A true state of feeling 
towards the Deity, and a faithful performance of our 
duties to man, are the inseparable elements of a correct 
definition of Christianity. 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



193 



Yet, when we remember how plain are the instructions 
of Jesus and his apostles upon this point, we are surprised 
that, even now, there is a more general ignorance con- 
cerning it than almost any other idea of the new revela- 
tion. In the popular theology and the popular mind, this 
world and the future have been, and still are, placed in 
contrast. Religion consists, according to this view, in a 
certain round of spiritual exercises, an alienation from 
human interests, and an ardent desire to enjoy God's 
presence in another state of being. Irreligion consists in 
loving this world, and becoming deeply interested in its 
em.ployments, and a desire to live as long as may be in it. 
Perhaps the teachers of the popular theologies might be 
disposed to protest against such an interpretation of their 
opinions : but this is the impression their preaching makes 
upon the common mind. It is the great reproach of the 
church that, in past time and now, its type of character 
has been monastic ; it has disparaged this world for the 
advantage of the next, and has nourished the tendency to 
separate religion from life. For this separation does exist, 
not more in irreligious than in religious communities. 
Through the whole modern social structure, and our entire 
habit of thought, runs the notion that the affairs of this 
world are not the affairs of another ; that the details of 
public and common life are not included within the sphere 
of Christian obli^-ation. 

o 

This idea produces a different effect upon different 
classes of minds. A selfish and ambitious man is well 
17 



194 



rSES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



enough suited mth this separation of business and piety. 
If religion is popular^ he may attend church, pray, and 
refresh himself on the Sabbath as devoutly as the best ; 
while, on Monday, he can gather up the threads of his 
occupation, and weave such a web of life as he will, with 
the comfortable assurance that next Sabbath will make all 
right. This state of feehng is seen in its perfection in the 
Cathohc church, where, in consideration of a certain amount 
of money, or devotional rhetoriCj God is supposed to permit 
the indulgence of his creatures in the most abominable 
wickedness. But it is capable of very pertinent illustra- 
tions even in the best portions of the Protestant church ; 
and I beheve the common expression, "Business is busi- 
ness, and rehgion is rehgion," does not date back farther 
than the Reformation. In every community this pernicious 
doctrine is a direct encouragement to all kinds of com- 
mercial, social, and political dishonesty : and even men of 
distinguished talents are found who pretend to defend it, 
and treat the opposite opinion with contempt. The best 
argument against such men, if they are merchants, would 
be to compel them to trade only with men who think busi- 
ness and religion are separate sjoheres of life ; if states- 
men, to be brought to the degradation of receiving their 
only support from those who think the obligation to human 
power supreme ; if fathers or mothers, to see their chil- 
dren, at the same time, members of the church of Christ, 
disobedient to themselves, and troublesome and hateful to 
their neighbors. The present condition of society is the 



USES OI' HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 195 

practical commentary upon this opinion logically and con- 
sistently applied. 

, But there is another class of persons upon whom the 
result of tlus doctrine is different. They really desire to 
be Christians, to love God and man, and make the most 
of their own powers. And, to these, the time spent in 
ordinary business seems wasted. They long for more 
elevating occupations, would love to spend life in reading, 
in the enjoyment of the beautiful in nature and art, in 
prayer, or, at least, in action which bears directly upon 
the highest welfare of man. They rebel against this irk- 
some toil of every-day life, and look anxiously forward to 
relief from it. They may understand that it is their duty 
to perform this labor, but not why it is obligatory, or of 
what use it is in their religious discipline. It is for the 
benefit of this large class, — much more numerous than is 
often supposed, — that I now endeavor to explain the rela- 
tion of the employments of this world to the rehgious life, 
■ — to answer this question, so frequently proposed, "Why 
must I work at common things all my days? " 

And, before I enter fully upon the theme, I would say, 
that by business, in this discourse, I mean the whole circle 
of human activity, from that usually regarded as insig- 
nificant to the most imposing forms of professional action. 
And when I say that devotion to such employments is the 
best religious discipline, I mean, of course, devotion to 
them in a spirit of perfect honesty and faithfulness. I 
shall not undertake to defend the position, that commerce, 



196 USES OP HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



-social duties, and politics, as the j are generally transacted, 
are ennobling in their influence ; for I doubt whether the 
road to heaven does lie exactly parallel with any of the 
great avenues of American trade, or runs by the Capitol, 
or through the fashionable resorts of modern life. I mean 
that the duties of this world can be performed in a manner 
which will make them the best aids to Christian culture ; 
that they were devised by our Creator expressly for our 
education in the noblest concerns of the soul. 

To understand this fact, we must know distinctly the 
purpose of life. It should be repeated to us every day, 
that we are in this world for the sake of spiritual disci- 
pline ; to train and develop to their utmost capacity the 
intellectual powers which God has given us ; to bring the 
passions and appetites under the control of the reason and 
conscience ; to strengthen, purify and refine every faculty 
of the soul, and leave the world prepared to enter, with 
enlarged capacities and energies, upon the employments 
of the future. This is the sole object of human life ; and 
whatever act contributes to it is worthy to be done. 

The means of spiritual discipline are as numerous as the 
faculties of the mind, and the circumstances and employ- 
ments of life. It is a mistake to suppose we can become 
well educated merely by the help of one class of agencies. 
We need influences adapted to every part of our nature, 
and as various as its moods ; and God has given us every 
necessary aid for our work. This body, in which we live, 
and which we so often abuse and then vihfy as the cause 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 197 

of our transgressions, was given to teach us something 
important, and our souls could not become great, good, 
and beautiful in any situation so well as within these 
fleshly limitations. The material universe around us, so 
intimately related to our body and spirit, is another great 
instructor, and time would fail to describe the ways in 
which we may be assisted by its direct and hidden influ- 
ences. Human souls are also a necessary help to our prog- 
ress. By contact with them, our mental and moral 
faculties are evolved, and their thought and action create 
the proper atmosphere for sustaining our spiritual exist- 
ence. Books, which are among the best products of the 
soul, also instruct us, not exclusively, as many seem to 
believe, but in proportion to our power to use them rightly. 
And especially are we taught by action. Action — the 
putting forth of the soul's energies in direct effort to over- 
come obstacles, and create new combinations in the realm 
of matter and spirit — is as necessary to its health as mo- 
tion to the welfare of the body. Indeed, Ave may say that 
all spiritual discipline culminates in action, since thought 
and feeling which never take form through a decisive 
effort of the will are of comparatively httle value in life. 
And of action, the modes are almost infinite. A man Avill 
be surprised to reflect how many different things he does 
in one day, if faithful to its demands. And all these 
things are necessary to be done, not only on their own 
account, but for the disciphne of him who works. No one 
can say how important our common duties are in respect 
17* 



198 USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



to the result upon the materials and persons with which we 
are engaged. It may be that many things we are obliged 
to do are unimportant in themselves, but they help to 
bring out certain powers which otherwise would remain 
inactive. It is not to be expected that we can always see 
the precise relation of a duty to our spiritual culture ; but 
the fact that it is a duty is proof that we shall be im- 
proved by doing it. 

Many persons will acknowledge that life is the school 
of the spiritj but are troubled that the methods of culture 
should be such as they are. They understand that study, 
and benevolent and striking action, constitute an agreeable 
discipline ; but how can this be said of every-day, common 
duties, or those that are not pleasant ? It is no part of 
my present purpose to vindicate Providence, but to state 
its method ; and there can be no doubt that such is the 
fact, whether agreeable or not. And not only is it true, 
but even more is plain to a reflecting man, that the great- 
est 'portion of our spiritual education comes from these 
very common employments. Books act a very small 
part in the growth of a human soul ; great occasions for 
action occur but seldom; but these every-day employ- 
ments are the largest share of our life, are always about 
us, almost a part of us, and, unknown to ourselves, teach 
us more than we are aware. Many persons are edu- 
cated entirely by them ; the greatest men that ever lived 
have been so trained ; and all men become powerful and 
excellent in proportion to their wisdom and fidehty in their 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 199 



use. So far from being a hindrance, they are the very 
aids of our growth, and the worst calamity would be deliv- 
erance from them. 

But we may better appreciate this view of life by con- 
fining our attention to separate departments of ordinary 
action. I will examine briefly one of our common em- 
ployments, and test the correctness of my train of remark 
by the conclusion draw^n from it. I will select Commerce, 
and show you that the merchant may so engage in the 
duties of his station that he shall find it adequate to the 
purpose of spiritual culture. 

I have selected the mercantile profession as an illustra- 
tion of this doctrine, because most of us in America are 
more familiar with its opportunities and temptations than 
any other. It is also the department of life of all others 
whose relations to Christianity should be accurately defined. 
Eor there is probably no profession which embraces so 
large a share of the talent of our country, and genius 
often achieves its most striking results in commerce. No 
person acquainted with the present constitution of Ameri- 
can society will deny that the merchants are the leading 
class in it, and are responsible to a great degree for the 
character of legislation, social life, and public morals. 
Even literature, art, and the pulpit depend for their op- 
portunities of success more upon the disposition of this 
class than any other. This is an unavoidable condition of 
things, and a wise teacher of Christianity, instead of rail- 
ing against commercial ascendency, will endeavor to show 



200 USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



the relations of commerce to religion, and tell his people 
hoWj at the same time, thej may be eminent merchants, 
and advance their higher interests in the education of the 
spirit for eternity. It is true, a large portion of those 
who are engaged in this profession, as in every other, do 
not appreciate its capacities, and make of it simply a 
means to get the greatest amount of money in the shortest 
time, hoping that retirement, by-and-by, will give them 
the opportunity for mental and moral cultivation. But 
this is a wrong view of the calhng, and ends in the degra- 
dation of the man who adopts it. Do no one of you, my 
friends, build your hopes of Christian culture upon such 
a basis. You who have engaged in this laudable employ- 
ment — one of the first in dignity in modern civilization 
— are bound to study its spiritual no less than its material 
uses, and to make of it a mental and moral discipline, as 
well as a means of acquiring a livelihood. Certain it is 
that if you cannot become Christians in your profession, 
you cannot out of it. If you devote all your energies 
merely to the accumulation of property through the best 
part of your life, you will have no desire, when you are 
old, to be different from what you have been. Let us, 
then, reflect together, for a while, upon the opportunities 
for spiritual culture, in its widest sense, which this sphere 
of activity presents. 

And, first, it is the peculiar excellence of your profes- 
sion that it forces a man to rely upon his own ability. 
There are situations where the talents of others, or a for- 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



201 



tunate position, may sustain an incompetent person, but 
commerce is hardly one of these. Its operations are in 
material things which obey fixed natural laws, and only 
he who knows the law can hope to succeed. A merchant, 
of all other men, must understand his own capacity. He 
is forced every day to measure his strength, and skill 
against other able men, and soon finds his place in relation 
to his competitors. If he would become eminent, he must 
not rely upon the money or talent of his neighbors, but 
examine, reason, decide and act for himself. And this is 
also the first condition of mental culture, that a man 
should learn to estimate his own power, compare it with 
that of others, and be forced to depend chiefly upon his 
own energies for success. So your profession lays the 
best foundation for the development of your mind. Then, 
it compels you to cultivate habits of accurate and extensive 
observation. You must know what you are dealing in, 
and who you are dealing with ; and in proportion to the 
extent and accuracy of this information will be your suc- 
cess. There is hardly any department of human activity 
which is not related to yours. Politics, and private, in- 
dustrial, and social life, are especially near it ; and you 
must study deeply to know all their bearings upon trade ; 
and the wide field of human nature is here laid open 
before you as nowhere else. Will you complain of lack 
of opportunity for mental culture, when you live in the 
midst of such a field for observation ? And here your 
business is a teacher ; for education is nothing without the 



202 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



possession of this quality of accurate and compreliensive 
investigation. Another process in mental discipline is the 
cultivation of the reasoning faculty, tracing causes to 
results, and discerning the relations between things ; and 
"what profession makes a more constant demand upon this 
power than the mercantile ? You cannot conduct an 
extensive and complicated commercial operation without 
going through trains of reasoning as definite and logical 
as any in mathematics. Then, the faculty of combination, 
of reconciling contradictory elements, and making a hun- 
dred conflicting influences converge to one grand result, — 
the very faculty by which a work of art or a great poem 
is constructed, — is essential to mercantile pursuits ; for 
the merchant must hold before his imagination the thing 
to be accomplished, while his eye sweeps over the whole 
field, and detects the bearing of each fact upon his central 
purpose. There are as many artists in commerce as in 
the studios ; and the admirable arrangements of a mercan- 
tile estabhshment have often impressed me with a sense 
of beauty very like that derived from a fine poem or pic- 
ture. Then, practical judgment — the power of estimat- 
ing things for what they really are — is an essential con- 
stituent of a well-disciplined mind ; and a merchant 
cannot go a step without this. He must indulge in no 
dreams or flights of fancy in his work, for to overrate or 
underrate the value of one agent will derange all his cal- 
culations and bring him to ruin. No man can be great 
without decision and energy, and these are the main pil- 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 203 



lars in commercial life. To watch for the very moment, 
and then strike, is the magic influence hj "which fortunes 
are acquired. So I might go on and show you that no 
profession presents greater opportunities for the cultivation 
of other elements of mental power than this. And no less 
admirable are its advantages for moral discipline. What 
an essential quality in the Christian character is patience ; 
yet who has such opportunity to acquire it as he who is 
obliged to wait and wait amid the complicated movements 
of commerce, forced to see his best plans again and again 
defeated, and often to hold on and make head against a 
condition of things almost desperate ? Jesus Christ tells 
us that persistence is a prime requisite in the religious 
character ; whoever ' ' putteth his hand to the plough and 
looketh back, is not fit for the kingdom of heaven ; " nei- 
ther is he fit for a responsible station in mercantile life. 
And who does not know the value of honesty ? It Hes at 
the root of the spiritual life ; it is the same as truth ; and 
without truth a man is nothing. So, without truth and 
perfect honesty, a man cannot be a merchant. He may 
be a sharper, a knave, a bad rich man, and a great many 
other bad things, but he does not deserve the name of 
merchant, and is as far without the pale of true mercan- 
tile life as a liar is from the church of Christ. Then, 
where will you find a nobler opportunity for the cultiva- 
tion of benevolence, in its widest aspect, from courtesy and 
kindness of manner up to mercy in forgiving men their 
dues, and relieving their wants, than here ? It is the 



204 USES OF HUMAN ElVIPLOYMENTS. 



peculiar privilege of the merchant that he can see and 
relieve distress more easily than others ; for he holds the 
reins of labor, and can often bestow that best of charity, 
employment, which at once satisfies necessity and encour- 
ages industry. And this sphere of life is not destitute of 
incentives to disinterestedness and piety ; for a wise man 
soon learns that a narrow selfishness is the worst commer- 
cial policy, — that a generous, noble style of trade is, after 
all, the high-road to lasting eminence. And where are 
men so taught their dependence upon each other as on the 
exchange, w^here the richest man of to-day may to-morrow 
be at the mercy of him who can raise a few thousands in 
ready money, and the ill-will of the meanest individual 
may sometimes be a formidable obstacle to success ? And 
surely a merchant is often enough reminded, in the midst 
of his activity and the tro|)hies of his industry, of his own 
weakness ; for a fire in one night may burn up his wealth, 
or one storm send his ships to the bottom of the sea, or a 
day of illness in himself or his family derange the most 
skilfully contrived plans. Why should he boast himself, 
when God commands the elements, — the rain and sun- 
shine, and the growth of crops, which form the materials 
of his trade ? — when he finds himself hemmed in on every 
side by supernatural agencies, to which his life is simply 
an adaptation more or less efiectual? Here then, my 
friends, you see the real character of this profession which 
you may have supposed to be conversant alone with ma- 
terial things. You find it contains within itself the 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 205 

means and opportunities for producing the most valuable 
mental and moral qualities — self-reliance, habits of ob- 
servation, the reasoning and constructive faculty, practical 
judgment, decision and energy, patience, persistence, hon- 
esty, benevolence, disinterestedness and piety. Ail these 
things a true merchant can learn without going out of his 
counting-room ; and tell me, if you will, whether the wit 
of man ever contrived a better college or school of theology 
than this 7 That your calling has great temptations is the 
natural compensation for its great capabilities. That men 
do not use it as I have described is no excuse for you to 
degrade it yet more. It is the place in which God has 
put you to become as great and good as you are able ; and 
be you anxious, above all things, to improve such an 
inestimable privilege as the position affords. 

In like manner it might be shown that each of the 
ordinary professions of life is furnished with the means 
for spiritual discipline. The farmer who fully understands 
the resources of his calling may gather from his fields a 
finer crop than his hay and corn — a constant lesson in 
all things which go to make a true man. The mechanic 
need not leave his designing and building to find employ- 
ment for his best faculties of mind and imagination, and 
his work may become as noble an expression of religious 
aspiration as the most elegant written or spoken words. 
The seaman who sails over the ocean and visits foreign 
lands, with his intellect wide awake and his moral prin- 
ciples sound, will not only freight his ship, but his soul, 
18 



206 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



"witli valuable knowledge and a generous regard for human 
nature. The wife and mother maj, in the superintending 
of her household and education of her children, display as 
much spiritual energy as would be required to create a 
reputation for literary excellence or public philanthropy. 
Indeed, there is no occupation which may not be so en- 
gaged in by a serious and thoughtful person that it shall 
open a sphere for all human activities. Then, there is no 
profession beneath a man : but there are many men 
beneath those common professions which within their - 
monotonous and unpromising routine embrace treasures of 
priceless value to him who has the energy and faith to 
secure them. Perhaps the majority of mankind cannot be 
educated by means of what are called the highest influ- 
ences — reading, and dealing directly with ideas and prin- 
ciples ; and these professions are the schools in which, by 
honest and persevering effort, they may acquire firmness 
and flexibility of mind, and those moral qualities, which 
by-and-by will fit them to enter into more direct contact 
with spiritual things. The real dignity of labor consists 
not in the fact that a man digs the earth, or builds a house, 
or in any way overcomes material resistance, but that, by 
this action, the best powers of the mind and heart are 
developed, and he is becoming greater and better for what 
he does. 

Therefore, it is a great mistake for us to despise these 
ordinary labors, and desire what we call more elevated 
employments. There are certain pursuits which, by com- 



USES OE HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



207 



mon consent, are regarded more difficult and honorable 
than others, and better adapted for the training of the 
higher order of minds. But ■vve should remember that 
the results of these are of precisely the same nature as 
the common professions. All they can do for a man is to 
educate his spirit ; and unless he is qualified to use the 
means they afibrd, he is positively worse ofi* in them than 
elsewhere. And if the majority of men knew how little 
the work of such pursuits differs from their own, they 
would cease to envy the laborers in those difficult fields. 
The scholar, the poet, the artist, the preacher, and the 
statesman, are obliged to perform more real drudgery than 
the farmer and the merchant. This part of their profes- 
sion is out of sight, but no less a reality. The acquiring 
of knowledge and skill, the arrangement of ideas, the dis-^ 
couraging toil among confused trains of thought, and the 
uncertainty which always accompanies purely spiritual 
effort, is the compensation for the advantages of this sphere 
of activity. When the man comes along who has the 
native power to overcome these obstacles, and grasp a 
hard-earned success at the end of a weary life, he may 
well try his fortune here ; otherwise let him be content to. 
gain the same kind of discipline in a way simpler, and 
better adapted to his comprehension. 

If I have now succeeded in making clear my meaning, 
you understand that the great use of life is spiritual cult- 
ure, and that its various professions and duties are a series 
of schools, in which we are plax)ed to acquire certain qual- 



208 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 



ities essential to the Christian character. God only knows 
in what department we shall best advance. Our duty is 
to accept the situation best adapted for us, and use it to 
the best advantage as long as we live. Then, when we 
are called away, and enter another field of labor, it will 
be of little consequence upon what sort of materials we 
have wrought in this world. The test will not then be 
whether our hands have tilled the earth, built in wood or 
stone, pulled the ropes of a ship, written a book, painted 
a picture, or held the sceptre of a nation ; but whether we 
have gained from these employments that power of mind, 
purity of taste, and uprightness and force of character, 
which will enable us to grapple with higher themes and 
more suitable occupations. Our gold, our merchandise, 
our lands, our civic honors, our poem, or our temple, we 
cannot take with us ; but we shall take the soul, which 
has been fashioned by our effort to gain these possessions, 
and to acquire and create this power and these works. 
And he who carries to the unknown world the noblest 
results from this, has lived the best, and had a genuine 
success in life. Whether that spirit be Shakspeare, Wash- 
ington, or some faithful tiller of the ground, or sailor upon 
the great deep, or man of various worldly cares, or woman 
unknown out of her own well-ordered circle, God only can 
decide ; but this we know, that we can serve Him only by 
making the most of those opportunities His wisdom has 
contrived for our growth in the Christian life. 

For God's method of education is the best, and we only 



USES OF HUMAN EMPLOYMENTS. 209 

go wrong and fall into confusion when we would alter it. 
When He creates an oak, He does not plant it in a hot- 
house, and send gardeners to water it, and shut off or let 
in the light and heat ; but an acorn drops into the side of 
a hill, and by-and-by a green twig shoots up among the 
rocks; and through drenching, and freezing, and scorching, 
and blowing, and the sifting of the earth over it, and the 
''hap-hazard" of vegetable life, it fights its way along, 
season by season, till in a hundred years it shades the 
herdsman and his flock, and the wild storm becomes an 
anthem away up among its branches. I^either does He 
choose to rear us to manhood upon spiritual dainties, or 
in the conservatory of any transcendental theory, but 
gives us a soul, and a will, and a place to grow in the 
midst of his universe. And by living as He has appointed 
— now standing with our faces scorched in fires of sorrow, 
now pacing over flats of monotonous labor, now twisting, 
and stooping, and clambering through rugged paths, now 
waiting in the dark for the appearing of one star ; by being 
all, and doing all that He wiiiJ. do we grow up into the 
" perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fulness 
of Christ." 

18* 



XYI. 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



" For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are 
clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made." — Rom. 
1 : 20. 

In these remarkable words the apostle tells us that 
nature is a revelation of the character of the Deity. 
" From the creation of the world the invisible things of 
Him are clearly seen" through the agency of this inter- 
preter between God and man. This truth is so often 
declared in the Scriptures that one must be an unbeliever 
in the worst sense to doubt it. Nature, as viewed by in- 
spired men of the olden time by the Saviour of the world, 
and by every true Christian soul now, is not an unmeaning 
catalogue of senseless creatures, but a living organism, in 
every part vital with the life of its Creator. In the grand 
expression of the greatest of modern poets, it is " t/ie 
garment by which God is seen^ 

But nature is not alone related to the Deity. It has 
also an intimate and profound sympathetic connection with 
humanity. Wliile it reveals the being and perfections of 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



211 



the Creator, it responds to the nature and life of the crea- 
ture. On one side fading away into infinity, on the 
other boldly projected into the life of finite existence, it must 
ever be a medium of communication between the two — 
the magnetic telegraph of the universe, along which pass 
and repass the eternal thought of God and the answering 
thought of man. 

This relation of nature to the human spirit has always 
been felt by those who were great and good enough to 
look through and beneath material appearances. And in 
every age of the Avorld, the outward universe has been 
regarded as a type of the universe of rational being. In 
the grand sweep of natural forces, men have been accus- 
tomed to discover a likeness to the more sublime events in 
human thought and action ; in the subtle and beautiful 
movements of foliage, cloud, and sunlight, a faint interpre- 
tation of these mysterious operations of the soul which can 
only be pictured, never expressed by definite words. The 
seasons of the year, being the most obvious and strongly 
marked features of nature, have always been compared to 
periods in the life of man. The Spring has been likened 
to his youth ; the Summer to his full glowing manhood ; 
Autumn to that period which, richest in useful labors, yet 
wears the marks of decaying vigor ; and Winter to the 
prostration of active powers, — the cold sleep in which the 
soul awaits its deliverance from earthly service to heav- 
enly freedom. 

There is great beauty and singular appropriateness in 



212 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAK. 



this comparison. But it is not the only one which can be 
made. Others there are no less natural and striking ; for 
nature is so wide and varied in her life that she gives a 
symbol for every mental condition, and follows the spirit, 
recording its achievements on her gigantic page, whose 
letters are suns, and stars, and forests, and seas, and 
mountains, and storms, and times, and seasons ; so that, 
do what he will, man can find in the "things that are 
made" a startling picture of his inmost thought, and deep- 
est life. 

I have always loved better to find in the changing sea- 
sons an emblem of progress in the religious life of the 
soul, than of the mere process of animal existence from 
birth to death. Beginning with the new year ; the beauty 
of the outward world is buried in the grave of Winter. 
Bare hills and snowy fields, cold waves breaking against 
ice-covered rocks, short days when the sun loses his power 
almost as soon as he gains it, changes of frost, and rain, 
and snow, proclaim a pause, and almost threaten death in 
the outer world. Yet, we believe that, under an aspect 
so cheerless, nature is only hiding her smiles ; that from 
this general barrenness a mighty c x jtion of beauty and 
fruitfulness is destined to leap forth into the sunshine of 
a new Spring. — So hes the soul of man before its great 
spiritual energies have been aroused by the voice of God. 
His life is cold, and barren of great results. He only 
changes from a dreary calm to a confused mingling of 
troubled passions. In sorrow and shivering despair he 



ANALOGY OF THE YE AIL 



213 



awaits his Spring. And tlie same faith that fills my room 
with pictures of singing birds, and bright streams, and 
green trees, while sitting at mj fireside in Winter, bids me 
never despair of the life of his soul. For, even while all 
without looks so unpromising, I believe that within new 
energies are mustering, knoAvledge is growing into wis- 
dom, and experience into love, and conscience struggling 
to throw off the load of sin, and the imagination shaping 
a noBle ideal, and the will slowly maturing for days when 
God's providences shall fall like thawing rains, and His 
love stream upon the soul like April suns, and that hfe, 
which was so feeble and cheerless, shall become glad and 
strong, and rejoice in divine allegiance. 

And what is Spring but the assurance that such a faith 
is not vain ? In a mysterious way the change begins in , 
nature, and the short days of winter gain at morning and 
evening, and the sun comes up at every dawn with greater 
energy, and the air softens, and blades of green grass look 
out from every warm nook, and before we know that the 
dreary season has gone, a bright day tells us what nature 
has been doing while we • were asleep. And, when so 
much has been gained, the Spring comes on by leaps ; and 
storms, and late frosts, and fog, cannot hold her back. She 
has broken her chains, and, through all these hindrances, 
rushes forward towards the Summer. 

How apt an emblem is this of the change that comes 
over the spirit, chilled and darkened by sin ! While we 
think it quite dead, it is often rousing and training its 



214 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAK. 



energies in secret, perhaps, even in tlie practice of nn- 
righteous deeds, acquiring a skill and force which shall, 
hj and by, gain victories in the holier conflicts of the 
Christian life. At first, a few manifestations of goodness 
relieve our despair ; and then, through reverses, and spells 
of cloudj weather, and sudden changes, and startling con- 
trasts, the work proceeds. But we are at last brought 
into some peculiar relation to him who is thus approaching 
God, and are astonished at the great distance which he 
has already gained. He may yet be very confused in his 
conceptions of the heavenly life ; but he has begun it; 
and when a man turns his face away from sin, and looks 
toioards holiness^ he becomes a difierent creature. Then 
he was becoming worse, now he is growing better ; and, 
. though it may be as hard for him to break from old associa- 
tions and habits as for Spring to get loose from the clutch 
of Winter, yet, by constant endeavor, he will surely do it. 
And, as often in a stormy Spring there comes a day when 
the dampness gets out of the air, and the sea puts on a 
Summer look, and the clouds and fogs move off and leave 
a clear sky, and the birds sing a victorious strain on every 
bush and half-leaved tree, so now and then comes a bright 
day in his life, when he can see his way clear before him, 
and a peace from God gives him a blessed assurance that 
other and better things are in store to reward him for his 
faithfulness in the future. 

And these beautiful Spring days are prophetic; for, 
one by one, signs of elemental conflict disappear, and the 



ANALOGY OF TEE YEAR. 



215 



season of warm, bright days approaches, — the Summer, 
with its prolonged sunshine, its wealth of foliage and flow- 
ers, its cool running waters, and shades inviting to repose, 
its vocal early dawns, and evening twilights fading into 
nights glorified by the moonlight. This is the year's 
time of rejoicing. From every field and hill- top ^v^e hear 
a song of triumph for the conflict that is past, of exulta- 
tion over the glory of the present, and promise for the 
fruitful time to come. — So does there come to him who 
has just fought through the first great strife against sin 
a period of fall and generous life, of joy and thanksgiving. 
Then the soul thinks all danger is past. Its initial ser- 
vice has been bravely rendered. Out of the very grasp 
of sin it has torn itsdf, and come up into strength and 
glowing spiritual manhood. And, as it looks back over 
its slow and rough journey, as it now sees life, outstretched 
like a wide landscape, blossoming for harvest, and thinks 
that, with a little more toil and God's blessing, the reaping 
and gathering time must come, why should it not be glad? 
Oh ! w^io that has ever lived as he ought can forget this 
period of his Christian course — the time when he ex- 
ulted in a newly gained power, and knew no discourage- 
ment to his boundless hopes, and his own path was light 
before him, and humanity seemed only w^aiting to hear 
and follow after the truth ! Thank God that He gives 
a time to every faithful child of His, and so early in the 
beginning of his Christian career ; for then we gather joy 
and energy to use as we go on. It is the soul's holiday, 



216 



ANALOGY OE THE YEAR. 



wlien it forgets the dangers that are past, and is kept 
from a knowledge of the difficulties that are to come. 

For this condition of mind is not final, but, like those 
•which have preceded it, only a state of transition. Even as 
the glory of Summer is subdued to the sober loveliness of 
Autumn, so does this exultation of the soul give place to a 
new phase of the spiritual life. We cannot tell how the 
Summer escapes us ; but, ere we think, everything wears a 
sadder hue, — the dense green of the forests and the mead- 
ows fades to a graver color, cool nights temper the fierce 
heats of mid-day, and an indescribable change creeps over 
nature. By and by the red leaves of the maple show us 
that the frost has invaded the fohage, and then it comes 
on with swift steps, until every wood and shrubby hill- 
side wears the radiant tokens of his presence. Then we 
have those calm October days, when the horizon is ob- 
scured with a thin haze, and the changed forests, and 
glowing files of bushes, and variegated grass fields, lie 
wrought into a bewildering picture by the strange atmos- 
pheric charm, wliich enfolds them. The corn and fruit 
have already been gathered in, and the earth, despoiled of 
its rich freight, lingers a while, clad in a wondrous beauty, 
ere it gives up to the approaching dreariness of a new 
Winter. 

Similar to this great change is that which is wrought 
upon the spirit, as it learns more of life, and begins in ear- 
nest to do the work appointed it upon the earth. Paus- 
ing on the threshold of its new existence, it may a while 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



217 



give itself to rejoicing and hope, but not long. Soon as 
it begins to act upon its materials, and out of them tries 
to build a spiritual temple, a crowd of difficulties, obsta- 
cles, discouragements and failures, harass it at everj 
point, until its extravagant hope is subdued to a patient 
faith, and its joy to a calm thoughtfulnesSj'and its feverish 
activity to rational, persistent labor in the cause of truth. 

It is not in the nature of man to remain his whole life 
in that state of youthful enthusiasm with which he began 
his Christian course. There are too many things to make 
him thoughtful ; well, if they do not make him sad and 
despondent. He who never thinks or feels deeply may, 
perhaps, preserve his early freshness, but not he who 
accepts the inevitable experience of our mortal state in 
any becoming manner. For, as he gets on, he finds men 
more obstinate in their sins than he supposed ; and wicked 
customs, which he believed could be plucked up like way- 
side weeds, are found too deeply rooted to yield to his 
strength ; and he is doomed to work year after year with 
no satisfying return for his labor, and sometimes he doubts 
whether his resistance to evil is not altogether vain, and 
it would not be better that he should go over and help the 
multitude enjoy its idols ; and, sooner or later, the deep 
problem of suifering is offered for his solution, and he dis- 
covers that every spirit is beaiing its own black cross. 
Strange, indeed, if, with all this to pull him down, he 
should not lose something of the fire of his early hopes, 
and become more cautious and thoughtful. He may, 
19 



218 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



indeed, try to conceal this change by an assumed briskness 
of manner, or a reckless, defiant posture towards sorrow ; 
or he may ran away from thought and real life into arti- 
ficial existence. In either case he destroys his own soul, 
and deceives no one except himself. Eor our spiritual 
condition is known by every act of our life, and the early 
buoyancy of boundless hope and conscious power can never 
be imitated so as to blind the eyes of a true man. 

And why should we desire to conceal or avoid such a 
condition of the soul 7 It is a necessary period of our 
growth in the heavenly life. We must pass under this 
shadow of mortal toil and suffering before we are fit to 
encounter the more dazzling beams of the sun that lights 
up the world beyond the grave. All this work, this dis- 
couragement, this grief is a part of our lot. Why 
not face it at once like men, and accept what it brings ? 
It does bring treasures, compared with which our former 
state of happiness seems a very childish way of life. 
It brings knowledge. In this rough dealing with actual 
things, our fancies are dissipated, and we learn to estimate 
correctly our own power, and where to direct our ener- 
gies. It brings insight. These convulsions of the soul, 
like the tearing apart of hills by earthquakes, open shafts 
to mines of gold and diamonds, and loosen a thousand 
hidden springs that flow in refreshing streams over a 
thirsty landscape. It gives foresight. Through disap- 
pointment and failure we learn to rightly proportion our 
work, to anticipate correctly, and are saved from a life of 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



219 



msted labor. And, better than knowledge, and insight, 
and foresight, or anything else learned in this severe in- 
struction, is faith. For not until our own strength has 
again and again been proved to be weakness, and our own 
extravagant expectations have melted into 'Hhin air," 
and we have been balked, and troubled at every turn, can 
we know how good it is to look above, and while we abate 
nothing of our faithfulness, in perfect trust, leave events 
and future times safe in the mighty love of God. 

So has the disciphne of life accomplished its work when 
it has taught us faith. Then we can live without this 
wild joy of our youth. Our wise and constant toil will 
give us calm days and quiet nights ; our confidence in 
man's capacity for holiness will not fail when we think of 
the Providence that enfolds him ; and our feverish desire 
for happiness will be subdued to a firm confidence that 
if v)e are ahoays trite to God, He tvill be ti^ue to us. 
Our lives may no longer dazzle the multitude with a 
shower of brilliant theories, and fine words, and freakish 
actions ; but we shall move among men encompassed with 
an atmosphere of mild, chastened light. They may not 
worship us, but they will gain our power, and be inspired 
by our heroism, and subdued by our resignation, and 
awed by our purity, and steadied by our faith. And a 
higher, holier beauty of character shall then be ours than 
that of youth ; even as the pensive loveliness of an Oc- 
tober day brings us nearer to God than the glory of a 
morning in June. The one is the glory of hope and con- 



220 



ANALOGY OF THE YEAR. 



fidence, that may be overturned ; the other the beauty of 
a thoughtful faith, which reposes fast upon foundations 
■which can never be moved. 

So does the year go round, following the changes 
in the soul of man, and weaving into living pictures 
the deepest experiences of his religious life. Nature is a 
versatile teacher, accommodating herself to every mood of 
our minds ]■ — yet variable only on the side towards us ; for 
she is yet an image of the eternity of God. Her seasons 
flit on swift wing ; her suns and stars rise and set every 
day; her waves flow, and break, and are lost; but, 
through all the changing splendor of the months, run the 
laws which bind into years and centuries a thousand 
varied days ; and though systems wander through space, 
the great universe has reposed in harmony since the last 
dawn in the week of creation ; and, though a myriad 
waves and storms scud over the surface of the ocean, its 
deep places are clear and calm, and its beatings and 
writhings are held fast in the rocky arms of its surround- 
ing shores. Everywhere at the centre of nature is stead- 
fast power, a type of its eternal Creator. — And so is our 
life moved through strange vicissitudes, and it breaks 
out into wild and unknown ways, and w^e do not know at 
our best estate when it is to gain its promised rest ; yet 
is God ever above, and around, and in the faithful soul ; 
and all its failures, and toils, and sorrows, are of His ap- 
pointment, all enfolded in His infinite and reconciling 
love. 



XYII. 



, COMPLAINT. 



" Wherefore doth a living man complain ? " — Lam. 8 : 39. 

The prophet asks this question in reference to a 
peculiar cause of complaint, the punishment of a man's 
sin ; and, certainly, we could imagine nothing which would 
justify a spirit of rebellion less than the righteous retri- 
bution for transgression. To those for whom the words 
were spoken, no appeal could have been more forcible; and 
yet, separated from this peculiar application, they have 
a meaning for us as broad and deep as life. For have 
men ceased, in these latter days, to complain, not only at 
the punishment of their sins, but the providential difficul- 
ties of their lot, their labors, their trials, even at the plan 
of life itself? I fear, brethren, that in our souls the 
spirit of discontent is as often in the uppermost seat as 
the spirit of contentment, and that our lips, which should 
utter only thanksgivings, are rarely opened to speak 
■ words of gratitude or praise to God. In view of this fact, 
so notorious that I need not stop to prove its existence, let 
me, giving to the question of the prophet an apphcation 
as wide as our whole nature and experience, ask you, 
19^* 



222 



COMPLAINT. 



" Wherefore," in any combination of circumstances which 
life may present, " wherefore," with any show of reason, 
doth a hving man complain? " 

''J. living man.''^ Have you ever reflected upon this 
fact, that you are permitted to be one among created 
things ? Your life, do you know what it is, and of what 
it renders you capable '? If so, methinks the greatness 
of the gift would stop the mouth of the most determined 
fault-finder among you. For, consider, a moment, what 
this simple fact of being alive implies. To live — is it not, 
at the lowest estimate, to experience many exquisite 
pleasures of the senses, and much of that happiness which 
comes from the possession of a body admirably constructed 
to receive and retain impressions from a universe of use- 
ful and beautiful creatures ? Yet more ; is it not to pos- 
sess faculties so much nobler than these animal propen- 
sities, that, in comparison, we often look upon the latter 
with contempt, and esteem a moment of intellectual and 
moral life above days of sensuous indulgence ? To live — ■ 
it is to receive the gift of reason, to which all knowledge 
and all mysteries lie open ; of memory, which arrests the 
fleeting incidents of the past, and weaves them into a series 
of glowing pictures, whose colors only become fixed and 
mellowed by age ; of hope, eternally beckoning us away 
from the failures of the present ; of human love, flowing 
in upon us from the day of our birth till the day of our 
death, and striving to flow out from us in return, and 
impart a greater joy than it has received ; of divine love, 



COMPLAINT. 



223 



wHch, breaking over the lines of our individuality, runs 
in perfect confidence to lose itself in the bosom of God, 
that it may come back and make us greater men, that we 
have, for a time, forgotten the existence of every being 
excepting the Father. This it is to hve — to know, to 
remember, to hope, to love, to worship. All this can you 
do, because you are a " living man." 

And when we contemplate the results possible from the 
exercise of these faculties upon the world of matter and 
mind, a conception of life yet grander rises before us. 
For all earthly things that we are most accustomed to 
reverence are the product of man's creative mind. Com- 
merce, governments, social life, art, literature, and the 
outward form of religion, — these follow as by a chain of 
necessity, when life is given. And even these, imposing 
as they may be, pass into insignificance before the pos- 
sibihties of any truly awakened soul. The spirit of man 
is always in advance of its trophies, and thinks the glory 
acquired but a faint type of the honor to come. For 
beyond the shadowy outlines of our science lies an unex- 
plored universe ; and under the depths of all philoso- 
phies opens deep below deep of wisdom ; and higher than 
the song of any poet can the imagination rise in its dar- 
ing flight; and "no eye hath seen, nor ear heard, nor 
hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive," the 
increasing joy and peace in store for the soul baptized 
into a faith that evermore draws nearer to .God. 

Such is life in itself, — such are its possibilities. Now 



224 



COMPLAINT. 



contrast a condition like tliis with non-existence. Place 
beside this fact of life, with its wide and vast relations, the 
awful negation of being! You, my brother, are among 
the " hving." Is not this enough to fill you with a 
boundless gratitude ? You are living because of the pure 
goodness of God. Inhabiting a universe fit for the abode 
of a being as glorious as you may become ; endowed with 
faculties which we dare not call other than divine ; 
knowledge, beauty, and love on every side inviting you 
to your proper employment ; '•^Wherefore do^^ you^ "a 
living man J complain 7 " 

But, passing from this view of life, as a whole, to more 
particular considerations, let me inquire if there is any 
portion of existence which, examined in the light of a 
Christian philosophy, afibrds a just cause of complaint. 
Thus can those who are dissatisfied be met upon their own 
ground ; for it is only by separating a part of life from 
the whole, and regarding it out of its relations with every- 
thing else, that even a pretext can be found to counte- 
nance a spirit of discontent. Let us, then, briefly look 
' upon that portion of existence which is supposed to excuse 
the indulgence in complaint, — the evil that is in the 
world, — for here, if anywhere, must the disciples of the 
philosophy of discontent intrench themselves. 

I shall not attempt to evade this question by a denial 
of the existence of evil, or by an exaggerated description 
of the happiness actually enjoyed by men. Nothing is 
gained for religion by ignoring the sin and sorrow of the 



COMPLAINT. 



225 



present state of being ; even by representing the life of 
the Christian as one exempt from trial. Christianity 
does not authorize us to make such representations in its 
name ; for Christianity, be it understood once for all, is 
not a master of ceremonies, offering to the world higher 
forms of pleasure, and more refined enjoyments, but our 
stern instructor in that eternal law of duty which may 
lead us through green meadows or over sharp rocks, and 
be equally worthy our reverence. No man, of any 
experience in life, can shut his eyes upon the sin and 
afiliction of humanity. Let the fact, then, be accepted, 
even in the exaggerated form in which the most obstinate 
fault-finder would present it. 

Of course, I shall not presume to discuss the question 
of the origin and existence of evil. I leave it to him 
who, at the end of a life of thought, has been in doubt, to 
say whether the problem can be solved. I do not know 
why this dreadful hazard should be permitted to accom- 
pany us everywhere, or why our moral nature, which is 
our highest glory, should, at the same time, be our most 
perilous gift. But if it be true that the existence of evil 
is not inconsistent with the facts I have already stated of 
life, viewed as a whole, I think it forms no reasonable 
ground of complaint. And nobody, excepting those phi- 
losophers whose theories release me from the obligation of 
argument with them, will pretend that this general pic- 
ture of life is at all defaced by the existence of sin and 
sorrow. Is life any the less a gift of God ; or are we 



226 



COMPLAINT. 



deprived of the power to think, to remember, to hope, to 
love, and to worship, because evil is among ns ; or do, 
thereby, commerce, and governments, and literature, and 
social life, and art, become impossible ; or is, therefore, 
the great universe of matter and thought locked and 
barred away from the conquering intellect ; or has a cloud 
obscured the Infinite Beauty ; or has the name of God 
ceased to be love? Great, indeed, is the evil in the world, 
but not great enough to disturb this truth, that life, as 
a whole, is infinitely preferable to non-existence. True, 
it comes before us as a comet rushes blazing across the 
solar system, scaring men by its fiery presence ; but even 
while its burning train sweeps half the sky, the sun rises 
and sets, and no planet or satellite is jostled out of its 
place. So stands the great system of life, too firmly 
fixed, and too nicely adjusted, to be convulsed by any 
intruding force. " Wherefore," then, even in view of 
evil, " doth a living man complain ? " 

But let me go beyond this negative argument, and by 
an appeal to your own consciousness deprive you of every 
apology for discontent. You complain that sin is in the 
world. At what point does your accusation lie 1 Not in 
the fact that you are punished for transgression, for you 
know that sin deserves retribution, but in your liability 
to sin. "Why am I tempted to do wrong?" you ask. 
I do not know ; but I know that this liability to temp- 
tation and sin is accompanied by the greatest privilege, 
that of resisting temptation and becoming virtuous and 



COMPLAINT. 



22T 



lioly. You cannot separate the former from the latter, 
for God has joined them in the constitution of your 
nature. And now place yourself, in imagination, at 
this point. Ascend this your mount of temptation, and, 
on one side, look down the almost insensibly declining 
way that leads gradually among clouds, and further off 
into the shadow of death ; and, on the other, upon that 
rising path which runs upward till it is lost in the gleam- 
ing country where the sun shines forever out of a cloud- 
less sky ; and tell me if you dare complain that upon you 
is placed the choice whither to go ? Will not the thought 
of an issue so momentous arouse a heroism that scorns a 
murmur ? Will you not say that you are preeminently 
a man, because you stand there, subject only to the neces- 
sity of a universal Providence, to a certain point sole dis- 
poser of yourself? And can you weakly desire to be 
released from your temptation to walk downward, when 
the sole condition of that release would be the loss of 
your manhood ? Or would the sun shine as brightly, 
or the trees wave as gladly, in those celestial fields, if 
you were carried there like a sick child, as if you entered 
them with your shoes covered with dust, and the staff in 
your hand, and a prayer upon your lips to God who 
saved you through the perils of the journey, and brought 
you to repose a moment in the first of your promised 
lands? Methinks I hear a response from every noble 
soul, ^'Let me be tempted, 0 God; since, through thy 
might, I can gain deliverance from temptation, and 



228 



COMPLAINT. 



achieve the glorious rewards of a tried and conquering 
virtue ! " 

And who among you, brethren, will complain that sor- 
row is in the world 7 Certainly not you who have been 
greatly tried, and have gone with your burdens to God. 
I hear murmurs at the afflictions of life, but only from 
those who have been vexed with petty annoyances, or, in 
more serious difficulties, have foolishly gone to themselves 
or to men for comfort. I hear them not from those who 
have aojain and ao;ain been stricken, and have learned the 
divine secret of self-renunciation in the darkest hours of 
life. Eull well they know that "when they are weak 
then are they strong." For tell me, you who have been 
near enough to God to know, tell me if your great sorrow 
has not called you away from a world of unrealities, and 
opened the doors of a world unknown before? It has 
demolished the creation of your own skill, that lay so fair 
and flattering around you ; but in its stead have arisen 
other things of endurino; substance, and "houses not 
made with hands." It has unlocked your arms, as they 
clung, with the desperation of a startled earthly love, 
about the forms of your beloved ; but, even while your 
streaming eyes have watched their receding shapes, their 
spirits, arrayed in incorruption, have glided back to your 
side, to go no more away. It has humbled your proud 
will in the dust, and mocked at the feeble striving of your 
intellectual power, and left you at times alone in a deso- 
late universe ; but, at the first prayer of faith, that uni- 



COMPLAINT. 



229 



verse became alive witli the presence of God ; and when, 
like a little child, you confessed your ignorance, was felt 
the dawning of a higher wisdom ; and when you became 
content to lose your pride, did you first awake to the 
sense of your true dignity as a son of the Most High. 
And so has sorrow gone on, overturning, one by one, the 
walls you had so proudly built around yourself; and yet 
each was a wall of separation between you and heaven, 
and now the last has fallen, and the prospect is no longer 
obstructed that widens before you, stretching to the prom- 
ised Canaan, while you have learned enough in this dis- 
cipline to bless your Father that you were accounted 
worthy of chastisement. Let those complain who live in 
the circle of little desires and trifling discomforts ; you 
are seeking a nobler good, and yours is that calm and wise 
contentment in which the instructed and purified soul at 
last reposes ; that state of inward tranquillity which no 
shock from abroad can disturb; that trusting mood of 
heart in which approaching trial is seen only with uplifted 
eyes, and a reverent awaiting for the nevf gift of which it 
is the inspired bearer. And you, of all others, will ask, 
''"Wherefore," in afiliction, "doth a living man com- 
plain?" 

Such is life, regarded as a whole, and as a state subject 
to sin and sorrow ; and from neither point of view can a 
complaining spirit receive countenance. But, in justice 
to our existence, I must not rest with the presentation of 
that portion which is confined by time and space, since 
20 



230 



COMPLAINT. 



immortalitv has been "brought to light." Let me, then, 
speak a moment of the relation which this greatest of 
facts, the eternity of being, bears to my subject, and thus 
present the final demonstration of the unreasonableness of 
complaint. 

This argument is, in truth, but an expansion of those 
already offered ; since the immortal life is only the con- 
tinuation of the earthly existence, subject to the same 
laws of being, and directed by the same Providence. 
Then all I have said of the value of life itself, and of its 
possibilities, is only to be accepted and carried out. If it 
be a cause of thankfulness that we exist, how much greater 
should it be that our being is secured against the danger 
of annihilation ; that, both on the side of the past and the 
future, we have escaped the awful gulf of non-existence ! 
If, in a world so circumscribed as this, we acknowledge it 
a great privilege to possess and use our faculties, what 
emotions of gratitude should we feel when this possession 
and employment are insured to us forever ! If the heights 
and depths of knowledge, beauty, and love, now make us 
fall upon our knees and worship, what shall we say of a 
state of being in which the goal of our acquisitions here 
shall be the starting-point of an endless progression ! 
Thus is everything good in life secured and expanded to 
infinity by this revelation of immortality. 

And, in our estimate of the origin and results of evil, 
the argument from the experience of time is confirmed by 
the promised issues of eternity. For it is folly to believe 



COMPLAINT. 



231 



theit tliis moral freedom, which is our highest glory, and 
does much to reconcile us to the existence of temptation 
in this world, should ever be taken from us ; and why 
should the discipline of sorrow be less elevating, when the 
limitations of days and years are removed from around it, 
and it is introduced into relations entirely spiritual ? And 
more than this ; since our vision, bounded by the horizon 
lines of earth, can see enough of good in evil to reconcile 
the Christian heart to its existence, may we not confi- 
dently predict that in the same immortality which is the 
pledge of an infinite good will also be found the consistent 
explanation of its opposite 1 Who will dare to say that 
the apparent contradictions existing now in God's scheme 
of government shall continue to vex man forever ? 

Here, then, is found the crowning point of the argu- 
ment against complaint ; in the revelation of an immortal 
life for man, subject to the love of God, where good shall 
increase, and evil shall decrease ; where, as ages roll on, 
the wise and holy plans of the Deity shall gradually be 
developed before the minds of his creatures ; and when 
contradictions no longer exist, to task the human facul- 
ties, an infinity of knowledge yet lies around the spirit, 
yearning for a higher wisdom and a deeper love. So the 
last pretext is removed from him who would complain ; 
for is it not the lowest depth of folly, that a being in the 
earliest state of an infinite series of existence should mur- 
mur because his eyes cannot pierce at a glance into those 
regions which the vision of the All-seeing only can reach 7 



232 



complaint; 



Here, then, let the heart of the Christian repose in the 
assurance of his immortal hfe of labor directed by the 
love of a heavenly Father. 

" TFAere/ore," then, '-^ doth a living man complain? 
Is this train of reasoning I have presented so uncertain 
or so incomprehensible that we cannot all see its force, of 
ourselves ? Certainly not; for many a man, not instructed 
in the wisdom of the world, has received much more from, 
the assurance of a confiding faith. No, brethren, it is not 
because we are unable to see the folly of our discontent, 
if we will, that we still live in it. It is because we have 
voluntarily given away our hearts to temporal interests, 
and weakened our minds by the constant contemplation 
of trifling subjects, and driven off the Holy Spirit when it 
came to us ! We have come down into a sensual hfe, full 
of uncheered toils, and unexplained vexations, and fleet- 
ing pleasures, and now complain because we find not in 
it even the low amusement we sought ! It is not that 
the sun has ceased to shine, and the earth to blossom, as 
of old ; but that we have gone, of ourselves, into a dark 
wood, whose gloomy branches shut out the hght at mid- 
day, and where we stumble over rocks, and struggle 
through sharp thorns, and sink in miry bogs ! Methinks 
a wise man will not waste his life in complaints, in such a 
dismal place, but will make the best of his way out of it ! 
Methinks it were well for us to live in a little nobler style ; 
to break out of this net of worldly cares, and be sure that 
we know what is the life of the soul, before we arraign 



COMPLAINT. 



233 



tlie providence of God, and add blasphemy to our already 
accumulated mass of sins ! 

Then why should I not close by repeating to you what 
every good man, your own soul, and your God, are 
always telling you, — that the only refuge from the vexa- 
tions and sorrows of the world is found in hohness of life ? 
For only the saint has full command of his own spirit ; 
only to liim is life a promise of infinite possibihties of 
excellence ; only he can feel how noble it is to put the 
tempter under his feet; and to him alone does sorrow 
unveil her mysteries ; and his is the eye that blends earth 
and heaven in one infinite prospect, brightening as it 
recedes. Come, then, my brother, now so full of care, to 
whom complaint is a luxury, and life a weariness, come 
up from your slavery to things temporal into the glorious 
liberty of things eternal. Forgetting what you suffer, 
ask yourself what you are. Forbearing this strife with 
little annoyances or graver difficulty, arouse all your ener- 
gies, and wage war upon your sin. Ceasing this jealous 
opposition of personal inclinations, do good to all men ; 
and, caring not for ease, but only anxious to do your 
duty, humble your proud will before the will of God. 
Then will you know that in escaping from your sins your 
sorrows have lost their power to annoy ; that in loving 
man you have first known how much good is in him ; 
and, in obedience to your Father's law, you have found 
that peace which " passeth understanding." Then will 
your complaints be turned into thanksgivings, and your 
20* 



234 



COMPLAINT. 



heart be at rest ; and your daily labor shall be an offering 
of sacrifice ; and joy shall only direct you to the Giver of 
good; and in the night time of sorrow, and amid the 
falhng shadows of death, shall you feel the embracing 
arms of your Almighty Deliverer. 



^ XYIII. 

STRENaTH IN SORROW. 



" But Jesus, turning unto them, said, Daughters of Jerusalem, 
weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children." — 
Luke 23 : 28. 

These words were addressed by Jesus Christ to the 
women who followed him to the cross, weeping and la- 
menting. With his usual forgetfulness of self, their sorrow 
made him insensible to his own. He saw, too, the great 
calamities that were impending over the Jewish nation. 
He knew that a day of desolation was coming upon that 
devoted people, which would put to proof all their power 
of endurance. Therefore, he would rather see his friends 
reserving their energies to meet this terrible crisis than 
wasting them in unavailing complaints for him ; and he 
says to them, " Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, 
but weep for yourselves and for your children." 

But this expression contains a higher meaning than the 
context would immediately suggest. In fact, every remark 
of the Saviour, whether called out by some actual occur- 
rence or uttered in the style of a moral precept, contains 
a deep spiritual meaning. He was so full of life that he 



236 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



could not speak otherwise tlian profoundly, or act other- 
wise than nobly. If we do not always discover the spir- 
itual sense of his words, it is no proof that there is not 
such a meaning, only that we do not see it ; for w^e can- 
not expect to fully understand those precepts which come 
from the depths of the greatest soul that ever dwelt upon 
earth, until we have prepared oui^selves by holiness and 
submission, and been yet further qualified by a searching 
religious experience. 

I do not, therefore, look upon the words of my text as 
a mere expression of compassion, or a prediction of great 
calamities about to befall the followers of Jesus. It, 
doubtless, contains both these elements ; and some of those 
who heard it may have perceived nothing more in it, as 
many do not who now read it ; but it is, nevertheless, the 
utterance of a great spiritual fact, a fact that every man 
will understand as soon as he is able to see it. 

This fact is, that men who are brought into great trials 
and afflictions by Providence are not proper subjects for 
compassion ; that pity for them implies a distrust of God's 
benevolence ; that they may have a strength which ele- 
vates them far above mortal weakness ; that the tears wept 
for them should be poured out for the sins and weakness 
of those who weep. Was not this the meaning of Jesus ? 
Look upon him for a moment. His enemies are leading 
him to crucifixion; the mocking and the scourging are 
over, and the hour of sacrifice is approaching. He walks 
by the side of the man who bears the cross ; the multitude 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



23T 



throng behind ; — his enemies, who now think to be rid of 
him ; his friends, who have hved in his heavenly society, 
and are overwhehned at the dreadful thought of separa- 
tion. He turns around and looks upon them. Is there 
any weakness in that face, lit up with resignation and 
faith, as if heaven were already opening upon it ? Look 
upon that multitude, and tell me who there is so calm and 
strong as he, going to a shameful death ? Does he need 
compassion ? — he, to whom the glories of the future are 
revealed, as he walks there in communion with his Maker? 
Oj no ! reserve your tears for those about him. "Weep 
for those poor men who are so blinded by their sins that 
they cannot see the loveliness of God beaming in the face 
of his Son. Weep for those who are not strong enough to 
catch the inspiration of their Master's faith, but see in the 
most notable event in the world's history only the cruel 
death which separates them from their teacher. 

This strength was not given alone to the Saviour of 
men ; it has been bestowed upon every child of sorrow 
since the creation of the world. Was ever a man brought 
into great straits of labor, of trial, of suffering, who did 
not feel that when he cast himself on God he was strong ? 
Read the history of the world, and learn that its noblest 
spirits have passed through discouragement, persecution 
and agony, to their greatness ; and yet none have been so 
firm as they. While the crowd of weak men have stood 
in the plains and valleys beating their breasts, and bewail- 
ing the sufferings of their idols, they have been toiling up 



238 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



the steep mountain-cliffs of existence, their hands and feet 
bleeding, their bodies wearied, but their faces Hfted to 
heaven. Look into private life, and who are your strong- 
est and most beautiful natures there ? Those whose path 
from childhood up has been thick set with rocks and 
thorns, but who, in humble reliance upon divine mercy, 
have walked on, and are now the greatest of all. Are 
such men subjects for compassion? Does he need my 
pity who is listening to the voice of his Creator in the 
silence that comes after a great trial ? Does Milton need 
compassion, sitting in his blindness amid floating visions 
of Heaven and Paradise ? Shall I pour out tears upon the 
dungeon-bars of Tasso. while his soul is away at Jerusalem 
among heroes and saints, and deeds of more than human 
valor ? Can I comfort Paul, when, at the end of a weari- 
some life, he cries, "The time of my departure is at hand" ? 
Shall I dare to disturb with my weakness the lofty peace 
of the Saviour of men, as he is led to Mount Calvary ? 
Methinks I might as well weep that / am no better, that 
my faith is so low, my view of life so mean : or for those 
around me, who lie bound in their sins, from whom love 
and obedience seem to have fled. Weep not for the 
afflicted who dwells with his God, but for the sinful one 
who lives in darkness and moral destitution. 

Let me call your attention to this great distinction 
between affliction and sin, for it Hes at the foundation of 
the doctrine I would enforce. 

When I speak of affliction, I mean some . painfiil trial 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



239 



sent to us bj Providence, something which no foresight 
of ours could have averted, whether it be in the form of 
an interruption of our plans, the loss of our health, a 
sympathetic sorrow for the sufferings of others, or the 
death of our friends. In all such cases the suffering 
comes from no wilf ul violation of God's laws, and cannot, 
therefore, be looked upon as a punishment for transgres- 
sion. When I speak of the consequences of sin, I mean 
the results of our deliberate wrong-doing. In such cases 
we know the right way, and voluntarily forsake it. We 
may not, at the time, apprehend all the suffering our sin 
will bring upon us, but this is no excuse ; for we should 
obey conscience because it is the voice of God, not from 
any calculation of reward or punishment. 

I am the more desirous to impress this distinction 
between affliction and the consequences of sin upon your 
minds, because we have now-a-days a set of philosophers 
who, in their anxiety to reduce the events of life to an 
orderly system, look upon all human suffering as unneces- 
sary, as the result of the violation of natural laws. 
Whether this position is correct in itself, is a great ques- 
tion, and cannot be determined until we have answered 
another — Whether man was created for happiness 7 It 
appears to me, with the light I now have, that the advo- 
cates of such a theory of life are in a great error, exactly 
in this point, in their estimate of the purpose of life. I 
cannot believe that happiness is the highest thing in the 
universe, even though it may always accompany the high- 



240 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



est things. Duty is higher. HoHness, the development 
of our nature, is the end to be aimed at, and happiness 
generally follows it, like a graceful attendant. But, to 
mistake this secondary gratification for the end of exist- 
ence, is only a development of the epicure's philosophy, 
who, in the delicious taste of food, forgets that its only 
purpose is to sustain life; and so, instead of "eating to 
live," "lives to eat." 

But, if the abstract statement of this theory presents 
difficulties to the Christian philosopher, much more does 
the form which it assumes in many minds expose it to our 
reprobation. For these wise men have come to the con- 
clusion that there is no such thing as Providence in the 
world ; that all our joys are purchased by obedience to, 
and all our sorrows brought upon ourselves by the in- 
fringement of, these natural laws. Thus there can be no 
distinction between the consequences of affliction and sin. 
A man suffers, not from any purpose in the /Creator to 
discipline him, but because he or his ancestors have sinned. 
But where the justice lies of sending trials upon me for 
no other result than to inform me that my father was a 
transgressor, is a point which I have never heard explained. 
In fact, the whole theory, in this form, encounters the 
objection of not recognizing the mission of suffering in our 
spiritual development. It is poor consolation, when I am 
standing by the bed-side of a dying friend, to tell me that 
his death is caused by a violation of certain physical laws 
in the person of his remote ancestor. Perhaps it is so, — 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



241 



I Avill not dispute the fact ; but I ask, is this all ? Is 
there no holier lesson to be learned from the death-bed of 
a saint than a lecture upon the preservation of health 'I 
Suppose I admit your theory of natural laws — what then? 
Is my Father in heaven only a legislator, who establishes 
certain regulations, and creates men to illustrate them ? 
I admit that there is order in the creation ; but that order 
is enfolded by the infinite providence of God, who makes « 
every event serve a double purpose, and while He inflicts 
the penalty of his unconsciously violated law, is thereby 
preparing the soul, through suffering, to dwell in the high 
region of truth and holiness. Nothing of the kind we 
have mentioned will account for the prevalence of affliction, 
or satisfy the religious sense. The spirit of man demands 
a Providence, a particular Providence ; and, until it can 
be assured of this, is lost in the chaos of events around it. 
There is a limit even to free will, a point beyond which 
we feel that we are powerless, where all we can do is to 
bow in reverence before our Creator, and receive what he 
sends us with thankfulness and submission. 

I shall, therefore, not hesitate to say, that affliction and 
sin are two things ; the former is sent by God, the latter 
we take upon ourselves. The former is given from abroad, 
especially for our discipline in virtue ; the latter, if it ever 
becomes a discipline, becomes so by the exercise of .our 
own will. In one case, God leads us into darkness that 
we may learn to lean upon Him, that our vision may 
become purified from earthly obstructions to look upon 
21 



242 



STRENaTH IN SORROW. 



spiritual objects ; in the other, we run into darkness away 
from God, and stumble and fall, and lie there, bleeding 
and weary, until we pray to Him, and try to rise and 
return to the light. 

And herein is the reason that we have strength given 
in affliction. It is sent for our discipline. It first changes 
our relations to this world. It takes away money, health, 
or friends, whatever we most relied upon. We are then 
for a season cut off from the world. With the departure 
of our idols everything else seems to go, and we are left 
alone with God. Then, if we are true to ourselves, we 
open our eyes, and see things we never saw before. Then 
first dawns upon us the greatness of spiritual things — of 
truth, love, duty, and submission to Heaven. Then, feel- 
ing the uncertainty of earthly possessions, we first sin- 
cerely ask, " Is there nothing after this life 7 " And then 
gradually to our straining vision the present narrows 
itself to a point in eternity, and the past and future open 
in infinite perspective. We see the everlasting series of 
existence, rising world above world ; we see the friends we 
have lost laboring in other spheres, working out their 
destiny beneath the eye of the Great Father. Then the 
soul expands, and we know our own greatness ; and in this 
sublime thought the things of earth assume their proper 
proportions, and our personal sorrows are absorbed in the 
contemplation of our infinite existence and glorious destiny. 
Is he who is thus introduced into the region of realities a 
subject for pity ? Can he turn from the great meditations 



STEENGTH IN SORROW. 



243 



that fill his soul to weep with you 7 No ; he has already 
passed into the eternal life, where there is no more sor- 
sowj only labor and love ! 

But, alas for the sinful man, for him who has walked 
away from God into darkness ! For him is only a deeper 
and deeper experience of suffering, sorrow, and humilia- 
tion, and self-reproach, and a sense of estrangement from 
his Maker. The light from heaven daily becomes more dim, 
the clouds more dismal that draw around him. 0, weep 
for him ; for, until he turns and fights his way out of that 
dreadful darkness, he is miserable indeed ! Do not cling 
around the feet of him whose eyes are lifted on high, for 
you will only drag him downward ; but go to him who is 
wandering about the pit of destruction, and let your tears 
and entreaties recall him from its brink. Reform your 
own lives, and try to go up where your afilicted brother 
is, instead of calling him back to a world of unreal things 
and vanishing shows ! 

I have spoken of the strength that comes to a man in 
affliction. But we must distinctly understand one thing : 
it comes only to him who seeks it by self-renunciation, by 
prayer to God, by perfect submission to his will, by a life 
of active duty. Affliction is the best or the worst thing 
for us, according to the use we make of it. If we shut 
ourselves away from humanity, and think only of our 
personal loss, and give ourselves up to grief, and encour- 
age our weakness by every method ; if we distrust the 
providence of God, and say that we have nothing now to 



244 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



live for, and that duty is no longer pleasant, we shall be 
left to such a desolation as comes only to a heart filled with 
selfishness, and forsaken by Heaven. God has no com- 
passion upon our want of faith, our sentimental weakness. 
These we feel because our lives have not been spiritual. 
Because we have always lived in the dust, we cannot rise 
above it. If we will shut ourselves in the tomb of our 
friend, and dwell there with bones, and shrouds, and 
decaying flesh, no good angel will open the door, and our 
souls will become a part of the general corruption. But 
if we use the little strength we have in works of love, and 
pray God for more ; if we go down into the depths of our 
spirit, and invoke the mighty reserved energies of our 
being ; if we forget ourselves in thinking of the grandeur 
of life, the worth of virtue, the immortality of the soul ; 
a strength, we shall not know from what source, will come 
to us, and we shall feel that we were never before so 
great, so peacefully, truly happy, so at one with God and 
so bound to man, as in the moment of our greatest bereave- 
ment. I would not harshly censure the indulgence of 
sorrow. I know the weakness of our human nature ; but 
I only state the eternal law, and tell you where strength 
lies, if you will reach up to it. 

The experience of any one who hears me will verify this 
doctrine of my discourse, that those who are afflicted in 
any manner, and receive their trial in a Christian spirit, 
are made stronger by it than they ever were before, and 
are, therefore, not proper objects for compassion. 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



245 



How often have we seen this in one of the greatest 
afflictions connected with our present order of society — • 
the loss of fortune, and the consequent loss of social po- 
sition. I can hardly conceive a more severe trial of a 
man's Christian patience and fortitude than, in the matu- 
rity of his powers, and the midst of great influence, sur- 
rounded by many friends, to be suddenly reduced to 
poverty by one of those fluctuations of commerce which 
now occur almost every day. For this foolish world of 
ours has not yet learned that the contents of a man's soul 
are of more value than the contents of his pocket, and 
when the latter becomes empty they say he has failed; 
an expression which, to many people, is synonymous with 
spiritual failure, especially if the man does not show finan- 
cial skill enough to regain his former position. 

So great is this trial, that few men are strong enough 
to sustain it. Many can retrieve their loss, and become 
rich again ; but few can live in poverty the remainder of 
their days without becoming discouraged, or restive, or 
misanthropic. Yet, look at the true Christian when such 
an event befalls him. He calmly surveys his position, 
and tries to discover the cause of his deprivation. He 
sees that it was sent to teach him some great truth. He 
was becoming proud, or hard-hearted, or too devoted to 
gain, or the circle in which he moved was not the best for 
the development of his nature. It was necessary at that 
period that his associations should be broken up, and he 
be thrown into the midst of a new set of circumstances. 
21* 



246 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



All this he sees, and then, like a man, endeavors to make 
the most of the advantages around him. He does not 
spend life among the ghosts of his old pleasures, or in 
foolish struggles to regain the little consequence he has 
lost ; but cheerfully studies the new minds around him, 
and the kind of life he must now live. And how soon do 
we perceive the results of such a course. The man who 
was driven about with love for gold, or fear of men and 
customs, is now transformed to a calm and active Chris- 
tian. The wife who spent her life in nervous complain- 
ings and constant vexations, now arouses herself, and 
becomes a noble, self-denying mother, a blessing to her 
partner, and an honor to her sex. The children are 
rescued from the contamination of an artificial life, and 
grow up pure, beautiful, and great. This is not a fancy 
sketch ; it is attainable in every case where the endeavor 
is sincerely made ; and I feel I should insult your relig- 
ious sense if I asked you whether this family had lost any- 
thing, whether they were fit objects for your pity. No ; 
men have cast them out of the market-place, and God has 
taken them into his holy of hohes. where they will dwell 
with Him above the vulgar noise and strife of material 
things. 

Then there is that affliction of sickness, of long-pro- 
tracted debility, with its melancholy train of depressed 
spirits, a sense of being useless in the world, a longing for 
more life or for death, neither of which comes ; with mo- 
ments and days of strength, in which the spirit kindles up 



STEENaTH IN SORROW. 



247 



and forms a thousand plans, and builds a city glittering with 
spires and turrets, which vanishes away on some morning 
when returning consciousness brings back the old weak- 
ness; with seclusion from society and nature, and, at 
times, almost from God, where the body is so weak that 
the spirit cannot have faith. 

But, my friend, before you pity that afflicted one, try 
to look into his soul. You will see there, perhaps, a 
strength to which your own is weakness. What though 
the glare and bustle of life are shut out from him, if angels 
come from heaven and fill the darkened room, and sweet 
thoughts go out and wander at will through the lovely 
places of earth, even into the world we have not seen " 1 
What though he is withdrawn from daily intercourse with 
nature, if every sunbeam that steals over his bed awakens 
a thrill of gratitude, and every flower seems a direct gift 
from the Author of beauty ? What though the crowd of 
men walk carelessly by the door of the sufferer's dwelling, 
if one or two loving ones will go in and open to him the 
rich depths of a religious experience, and make him feel 
the blessing of that true mingling of hearts so little known 
in our sinful state ? I do not say that sickness is always 
better than health ; but / know that when God sends it, 
he sends a strength with it which often elevates the soul 
as far above the reach of compassion as the heavens are 
above the earth. 

And then comes that great terror of our mortal exist- 
ence, death ; and the one we love best must go and work 



24g 



STRENGTH IN SORROW. 



in another vineyard, while we endure the burden and heat 
of the day alone. But I need not tell you that if you look 
this fearful thing in the face, and call to God for help, you 
will overcome it, and become greater than ever before. 
Tor, if we are leaning upon others, or living too selfishly, or 
yielding to temptation, or becoming restrained or restrain- 
ing another in the pursuit of the spiritual life, it is a 
blessing that we should be left alone with our Maker long 
enough to learn our duty, and be awakened to our destiny. 
And let me tell you that he whose approving conscience 
sings him to sleep every night, and whom every morning's 
sun awakens to the cheerful performance of duty, to whom 
life every day appears richer, and immortality more actual, 
and God more present, will not long be very much dis- 
turbed by even this greatest of trials. He is introduced 
into the same world with the departed, — the world of 
spiritual realities, of pure affections, of heavenly inter- 
course with the Universal Father. And if he can remain 
good, and retain his power to labor, do not fear that God 
will let him sink, for he "has given his angels charge 
over him, and in their hands will they bear him up." 

The conclusion of all this is, we have nothing to fear or 
to lament greatly in this world but sin. God takes care of 
the afflicted that come to him, and your duty in respect to 
them is to direct them to the true source of life, to awaken 
their energies, to urge them on to greater exertions than 
they have ever made. You are not fulfilling a Christian 
obligation when yoa surround an afflicted one with badges 



STRENaTH IN SORROW. 



249 



of mourning, and lamentation?, and services wMcli increase 
iiis weakness, rather than impart strength ; but you are 
doing it when you convince him that his affliction is his 
great privilege, that he may now go nearer God than you. 
I cannot but think that the prevalent view of life and its 
trials is essentially heathen. The spirit with which we go 
to our sacrifices is not that in which the Saviour cried as 
Judas went out to betray him, Now is the Son of Man 
glorified! We are content to be merry, and live on 
good terms with our sins, but we are cowards in our sor- 
rows ! We run after and worship a man, and rejoice at 
his prosperity if he is successful, even at the expense of 
becoming sensual and earthly ; but the blow of Providence 
that drives him out of this false way of life into a situation 
where he can become a Christian again if he will, is a 
signal for an uproar of lamentation as great as if the sky 
had fallen upon our heads ! This is not religion ; it is 
irreligion, weakness, the want of faith in God; for, I 
repeat it, sin is the only great evil, and affliction comes to 
aid and exalt. So has it been to every faithful child of 
man since the world began ; so was it with J esus Christ ; 
for when he overcame his great agony, and said, "Not 
my will but thine be done," "there appeared an angel 
from heaven strengthening him." 



XIX. - 



TOICES FEOM THE DEPARTE1>. 



'■^ It is expedient for you that I -go a^yay ; fbv, if I go not away, the 
Comforter will not come unto you ; but, if I depai-t, I will send him 
unto you." — John 16 : 7. 

These words were spoken by Jesus Christ to his dis- 
ciples, a little while before his crucifixion. Their faith 
was not strong enough to contemplate his departure with 
calmness ; therefore, he endeavored to strengthen it, by 
assuring them that they should not be left alone. The 
Comforter would come, which should console them for his 
absence, and lead them into a knowledge of all truth. 

I do not regard this promise as limited to the special 
gifts which the disciples of Jesus afterwards received. It 
expresses a fact as true now as then. The Master doubt- 
less referred to the various influences which the death of 
the great and good have upon the living, — a class of in- 
fluences so peculiar and elevating that it is not the lan- 
guage of exaggeration to say concerning every noble soul 
that goes from us, " It is expedient that it go away ; for, if 
it go not away, the Comforter will not come." There are 
many things, — perhaps the best things about the great 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



251 



and good, — that ^Ye cannot know until they have ceased 
to live upon the earth ; and there is an intercourse which 
requires for its perfection an intervening distance as great 
as that between this world and another. I will now invite 
your attention to some of the methods bj which the dead 
yet speak to us, 

Andj first, I will mention the effect of absence itself, in 
giving definiteness to our conception of human character. 
We cannot fully understand the nature of a person who 
is always with us, especially of one we love. Our own 
thoughts and feelings and theirs become mysteriously in- 
termingled ; and what we regard as a manifestation of 
their spirit is often only a reflection of our own. If the 
friend be greatly superior to us, we are apt to be over- 
come with his greatness, and, losing ourselves, to ascribe to 
him the knowledge and virtues of both ; if inferior, we are 
slow to believe in the existence of any native strength 
where we have seen only weakness and dependence. Thus 
the boundary lines of our individuality become confused, 
and a variety of false impressions assume the force of 
realities. There is such a thing as living too near the 
best man. I know that many, who have warm affections 
and little self-reliance, think they cannot be too much in 
the society of their friends. They love to bury them- 
selves in another's wisdom or affection, and almost lose 
consciousness of their own identity in the happiness of 
receiving. But a man who truly respects himself knows 
that no relation, however intimate, with another, can take 



252 VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



the place of a Christian self-reliance. Therefore, he never 
is merged in the being of his friend^ but remains himself. 
There are lines drawn around our souls which we cannot 
safely overleap. Standing upon our own manhood, we 
can love God and man, and be exalted by communion with 
them ; but if we try to throw ourselves into God, or live 
in the life of any human being, we only lose that manhood, 
and with it everything worth possessing. 

Thus we see that absence is as necessary to a correct 
appreciation of our friends as their society ; for only in 
this manner can we know exactly what they are, and pre- 
serve our own individuality. When one we have greatly 
loved and revered goes away, and we have no hope of 
meeting him again in this life, our latent energies awaken. 
We feel that we must either stand alone or fall, and invol- 
untarily make a great effort towards the former. And, 
when we have recovered our own poise, we can begin to 
estimate the actual value of the departed one. For now 
we see in what respects we are strong or weak, and per- 
haps discover that we have many of the things we most 
admired in him, or that he was aiding us in a manner of 
which we had no conception. As nature reasserts her 
rightful authority over us, this perception becomes clearer. 
Away from our friend, his mental and moral tpahties 
arrange themselves in harmonious proportions, the uncer- 
tainty and vagueness which always accompany anxious 
earthly love clear away, and gradually the beautiful char- 
acter stands revealed for our admiration and improvement. 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



253 



When we go too near a fine picture all the details become 
confused, — the gradation of color is lost, the outlines run 
into each other, and it appears onlj like a canvas blotted 
with different kinds of paint ; but, if we retire to a proper 
distance, and stand in the true position, the unmeaning 
lines and glaring colors are transformed into a beautiful 
landscape. So we maj cling so closelj to our friends 
that we lose all correct perception of their worth, and 
should never know them did not our Father wisely place 
between us barriers which, although transparent to the 
eye of faith, are impassable to mortal strength. 

It is often necessary that the distance between ourselves 
and those we love and revere the most should be so great 
as to throw us entirely upon ourselves ; and such a sepa- 
ration is death. In such cases we really suffer no loss ; 
for the value of a friend is not in his outward form, but 
in what he does for us and what he is. "We may be living 
so near him that we should never get anything more from 
him ; our nature may be filled to repletion with his thought 
and love, and his continuance would only debilitate us. 
In the state of intense mental and moral activity which 
accompanies the highest form of human love, we receive 
impressions much faster than we can arrange and apply 
them. If this process continued, we should, by-and-by, 
become confused. But, if the beloved one is taken away, 
it may be that we shall find we have received enough from 
him in the few years of his society to satisfy us during a 
long life. I know this is true. There are people now 
22 



254 



VOICES mOM THE DEPARTED. 



living whose death, perhaps, would do me as much good 
as their life ; for, in an hour's conversation, they give me 
the materials for a month's thought; and I can look back 
upon many years of such intercourse. There are friends 
who have left me, that I loved too well to know perfectly 
on earth, but whose characters now become more distinct 
and glowing every day ; for they are opening before me 
deeper and wider, and it seems as if I were to stand 
watching them all my life, as I would the slow rising of a 
sun that was to shine through eternity ! Thus is the ab- 
sence of the great and good necessary to a perfect com- 
prehension of their worth. Truly, then, they go away 
only to come nearer ; and we exchange the uncertain and 
shadowy knowledge of them we had upon earth, for a 
sure, distinct, and ever increasing perception of their 
spiritual worth. If I go not aioay^^^ said Jesus, " the 
Comforter will not comeP 

This species of influence is independent of the continued 
personal interest, or even existence, of our departed friends. 
It comes from the clearing up of our own minds. But 
there are other methods by which they move us. It is 
useless to ascribe all our feelings concerning them to the 
mere recollection of what they were. When we meditate 
upon their characters, and ask ourselves if so much truth 
and love is forever gone away from us, we often obtain the 
assurance that it has not. A response comes from the 
depth of our being to the longings of our bereaved affec- 
tion, which, by the peace it brings, is proved worthy of 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



255 



reverence. I cannot say how much I beheve or disbeheve 
in regard to our intercourse with the departed. Whether 
tliej are really permitted to be near, or, from some distant 
field of labor, see more of us than we see of them ; how 
much of our encouragement in hours of despondency, or 
how much of our strength in hours of temptation, we owe to 
them ; — these are questions upon which it does not become 
any man to tell all he believes. It is not well to put out 
the most sacred and mysterious emotions of our souls into 
the critical atmosphere of the world. But we may rea- 
sonably believe some things, and openly express our belief 
in them ; while to the existence of more sacred longings 
and assurances we may appeal when our reasoning fails to 
satisfy the anxious spirit 

It is certainly not unreasonable to suppose that our de- 
parted friends still retain an interest in us, and are per- 
mitted, in some way, to assist us. Of course, in this 
statement, I assume the fact of a personal immortal exist- 
ence, which I cannot deny consistently with my belief in 
Christianity. For, hoAyever different may be the circum- 
stances in which they are placed, whatever new relations 
they may form, however rapidly they may advance in 
knowledge and goodness, it is impossible to believe they 
can outgrow a genuine love. I doubt not that death will 
dissolve many earthly friendships, based upon interest, or 
merely intellectual sympathy. The former require a 
peculiar arrangement of circumstances to insure their 
existence; the latter depend upon relative degrees of 



256 



VOICES FKOM THE DEPARTED. 



mental advancement. But love is not the union of com- 
mon earthly wants, or the meeting of intellects, but the 
mingling of two entire natures. It does not depend alto- 
gether upon mental and moral conditions. We may con- 
vince ourselves that the object of our affection is utterly 
unworthy of it ; love stands aside, hears the argument and 
the condemnation, and then, returning, folds the unworthy 
one closer to her breast. We may be assured that no change 
of circumstance, and no increase of power, will alienate our 
departed ones from us. Whether they are permitted to 
do much or little for our improvement, the desire to aid 
us will not perish. For the highest love is not distressed 
by absence, is not anxious about the welfare of its objects, 
is patient and content to wait God's time for its fruition. 
Yet, why should not they who are gone be permitted to 
assist us? Will not a merciful Father allow them to give 
us, now and then, the benefit of their clearer knowledge 
and calmer faith? Will He decree the existence of 
longings which are not to be satisfied? When one 
moment of blessed communion will raise a spirit bowed 
to the earth by doubt, ar sorrow, or sin, will He not 
grant it? I will believe it; for my own deep neces- 
sities assure me that He will never leave them long un- 
satisfied. 

I may say, then, that it is not unreasonable to suppose 
our departed friends still retain their interest in us, and are 
permitted to assist us. I have not proved this, perhaps, for 
all that can be done by logic in the matter is to show that 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



25T 



tlie supposition is not unreasonable. I believe it to be true 
upon other grounds, — upon the testimony of a large class 
of emotions and spiritual experiences with which everj 
bereaved soul is acquainted, and which I would rather 
appeal to than attempt to translate into words. 

There are, in the life of every one who has lost a be- 
loved friend, moments of intense desire for his society. 
When we are painfully reaching after truth, and the 
intellect, baffled at every turn, at last becomes tired, and 
sinks down, and cries out in its humihation for the smallest 
gift from that treasury of knowledge it proudly thought 
to exhaust alone ; when the troubles of the world make 
us feel as if we were only standing here to be worn out 
by the slow rubbing of petty vexations, and disappointed 
hopes, and unfinished labors ; when a sense of guilt 
benumbs every energy, and steals the joy out of life, and 
makes us feel that our souls are not worth the rousing of 
the will to save them ; at such times, when we are too 
desolate to go to living men, and too full of humility to 
go to God, we long for the consoling presence of those 
who were once with us and are now with the Father, that 
their human love and their divine experience may recon- 
cile us again to life. And I know that these longings are 
not disreg-arded ; for, when I have been in such great 
doubt, I have been raised up by a gleam of truth ; and, 
when my sorrow has been the greatest, it has insensibly 
changed to an elevated repose ; and, when I most despaired 
of purity, my will has started up as if from the contact 
22* 



258 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



with angelic virtue. And, all the while, my best friend 
was in my thought, and seemed to stand by my side. 
And not alone in hours of difficulty and sorrow have I 
seemed to recognize this presence. When joy has risen 
so high that it was fast becoming pain, because there was 
no one near to share it with, suddenly there came to my 
soul the assurance that it was shared with one who was 
invisible ; and, when I have been borne along, as by a 
strong wind, through regions of high thought, I have felt 
that a mind was near me, looking down upon human 
things as they gradually unfolded into harmony and 
beauty ; and, when I have talked with dear friends till 
our thought and feeling came so near that vfords were too 
slow to express it, with the growing silence another 
seemed to come into the room and sit with us, and the 
chain of love bore round from heart to heart what none 
of us could say ; and, when in prayer to God my soul 
has passed out of the world, I have heard in my spirit the 
sound of the old voice that once whispered its petitions by 
my side. I do not question these heavenly visitants. I 
listen to what they tell me. I only know afterwards that 
I am stronger and calmer, as I always was after their 
presence upon earth. I will not dispute with him who 
says all this is the result of my excited feelings and dis- 
ordered imagination ; but I think I know how to distin- 
guish the two states of mind. The one leaves me lower 
than it found me ; the other bears me to an elevation from 
which I never descend. In the one I climb a mountain, 



VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



259 



and stand a moment upon its peak ; in the other the earth 
rises slowly beneath me, and bears me with it, and does 
not recede. I know this is true in the same way I know 
that God exists, that duty is a reality, and immortality is 
not a dream ; because such a belief is necessary to my 
existence; because, without it, life would be aimless, 
helpless, and worthless, and, with it, significant, strong, 
and glorious ; because, in my highest moments, I have 
no doubt of it. I am willing to reverence my best 
thoughts and deepest love, for what they tell me of such 
things is the best I have ; and, I doubt not, is the voice 
of God. 

By such methods as I have now described do the de- 
parted continue to exert an influence upon us. Their 
virtues shine with a brighter light after they have left us : 
and, by various tokens, more easily felt than described, 
they prove their interest in our welfare. Their visitations 
are known only to the spirit ; their voices are heard, not 
by the world, but by ourselves alone. A great compen- 
sation indeed is it for the desolation of the outward hfe, 
that our inner life thereby becomes more satisfying and 
real. God never takes a beloved object from the eyes of 
our flesh, without soon giving it back, more beautiful than 
ever, to the eyes of the spirit. 

Yet, my brethren, all this I have now said Tor your con- 
solation must be said conditionally. I must tell you, in 
conclusion, that you will know your departed friends better, 
and feel their presence, only when you are prepared for 



260 VOICES FROM THE DEPARTED. 



the knowledge by increasing piety and benevolence. I 
do not wonder that worldly and wicked men mourn over 
their dead as lost. Lost indeed are they, if the living 
make no effort to go to them. He whose ear is ringing 
with the clamor of earthly business, and the wrangling of 
self with neighbor, cannot hear the low, sweet voices that 
float from the spirit land. He for whom money and 
power and pleasure are all-sufl5cient, mil never be dis- 
turbed by the society of angels. Lost are they whom he 
once loved, because he has lost himself. But not so with 
the Christian. For he who tries to keep his hfe sacred by 
prayer, and by acts of disinterestedness would relieve the 
heaviness of daily cares, shall be refreshed by the same 
love that once spoke with him face to face. Using the 
world aright, he shall no longer be burthened with it; 
and, going out to meet every duty, he shall not be con- 
fused by his work ; and many an hour of repose shall be 
his, when he shall live in the spirit with those who have 
put off the body. It is only our ignorance and sin that 
make this world so gross and this life so barren. Knowl- 
edge and virtue will dissolve material barriers, and marry 
earth and heaven. And so to the Christian, purified by 
suffering, comes, at last, a perfect faith and an undis- 
turbed peace ; and the veil is taken from his senses, and 
around him walk the great and good, living and dead ; 
and the cadence of heavenly voices mingles with his 
earthly converse, and he sees, rank above rank, the ascend- 
ing orders of creation, in ways innumerable, fulfilling the 



VOICES TROM THE DEPARTED. 



261 



designs of Providence; and, beyond all, a great light, 
as from the throne of God, flowing down and irradiating 
all things, shining through the darkness of the grave, 
and revealing the glories of the eternity to come. 



XX. 

THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



" And beliold, two of them went that same day to a village called 
Emmaus ; and they talked together of all these things which had 
happened. And it came to pass that, while they communed together, 
and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them. But 
their eyes were holden, that they should not know him." — Luke 24 : 
13—17. 

There is no scene in the recorded life of Jesus Christ 
and his apostles more affecting than the account of the 
walk to Emmaus, after the resurrection ; and could we 
read it, with all its accompanying circumstances in mind, 
I do not believe it would ever be forgotten. I will now 
invite you to follow me as I try to recall some of its 
features. Let us endeavor to shut off the great world 
that surrounds us without the walls of our house of wor- 
ship, and yield ourselves, for a time, to the simple beauty 
of this old narrative, and meditate upon the significance it 
bears for our spiritual life ; for our Master never did an 
insignificant thing. He could not walk with two of his 
disciples from Jerusalem to Emmaus without doing what 
would become memorable to all future time. 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



263 



"And behold," says the Evangelist, ''two of them 
went that same day to a village called Emmaus ; and they 
talked together of all these things which had happened/' 
And how sad was their speech as they walked together ; 
for their conversation was of their crucified Lord. Their 
Master, who had called them from the rest of the v/orld to 
follow him ; who had so patiently instructed them into the 
mysterious things of the kingdom of heaven ; had borne 
with their ignorance, their ambition, and their worldliness ; 
had inspired them in their fear with the promise of help 
from God, and cheered them in their grief by the assur- 
ance of immortality ; had even unrolled before them, a 
little way, the scroll of the ages to come, and pointed to 
the blazing letters in which were written the triumph of 
his religion, and the ruin of all that now seemed so perma- 
nent in the world, — words not fully comprehended by 
them, yet filling their souls with strange joys and hopes ; 
he at whose word the waves of the sea had become calm, 
and fainting thousands had been refreshed with bread, and 
health had flowed into the veins of men wasted by disease, 
and light had broken in upon minds clouded with insanity, 
and the arms of weeping friends had enfolded the forms 
of those whom death could not hold within the tomb ; he 
whose wonderful works were only the beginning of a 
series of acts at which the nations should be astonished, 
whose words of wisdom were only the whispering of a 
voice which should be heard giving the law from Mount 
Zion through the whole earth ; whose power, and good- 



264 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



ness, and celestial presence, declared him to be the Sa- 
viour and Redeemer of Israel ; — He was now dead ! They 
had seen him borne away from the Garden at midnight, 
not resisting, though he had told them legions of angels 
were at his command ; some of them had looked on while 
the crown of thorns was placed upon his head, and the 
soldiers scourged and smote him ; afar off had they fol- 
lowed him ascending Mount Calvary, and seen him sus- 
pended above his cruel murderers between the two thieves, 
and, it may be, had heard his cry of anguish before he 
''gave up the ghost." And then they had gone away 
sorrowful, yet with a dim hope that on the third day he 
would still be restored to them. But the women had 
gone to the sepulchre and seen only the linen clothes lying 
there, — their Master gone, stolen ! Some impious hand 
had "taken away their Lord;" and even the last sad 
offices of humanity were denied them. Yet while they 
wept there, they had been told that their "Lord was 
risen," and would again be seen by them. 

It was of these things the two disciples spoke as they 
walked to Emmaus, sad and doubtful, their great hopes 
overthrown, their friends dispersed, even their dead Master 
taken away. " And it came to pass that, while they com- 
muned together, and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, 
and went with them. But their eyes were holden, that 
they should not know him." He asked them of what 
they talked : and when they told him, he began out of the 
prophets to instruct them of what should have happened. 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



265 



As lie spoke, their hearts acknowledged again the presence 
of the old Master, and " burned within them ; " yet they 
knew him not. So deeply had the melancholy events of 
the last few days sunk into their minds ; so anxious, and 
confused, and heart-broken were they, that they did not 
recognize their Master. Yet there he walked by their 
side, and the full stream of his speech came flowing in 
upon their souls ; yea, was he even talking of himself, and 
reconciling them to the pain of separation from him. It 
was afterwards that their eyes were opened, and they knew 
that he who had spoken to them was none other than Jesus 
Christ, their crucified and risen Saviour. 

Strange, indeed, we may think it was, that those two 
disciples could walk so near their Master, and hear the 
sound of his voice, and not know him ; yet the same thing 
has happened to you and me. Often in our lives have we 
walked from Jerusalem to Emmaus, by the side of our 
Lord, so absorbed in selfish sorrows or worldly musings, 
that our " eyes have been holden," and we have not known 
who it was. For, when Jesus Christ ascended to heaven, 
he did not go to remain there in a solitary glory forever. 
Still, though unseen, he walks the earth, with the spirits 
of others great and good. And in ways many and sig- 
nificant does he now talk with men, — by the power of his 
truth, by the depth of his infinite love, by the memory of 
his spotless life, his cruel death, his glorious resurrection 
and ascension into heaven, through words spoken by the 
lips of inspired men in our day and days gone by, in mo- 
23 



266 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



nitions of conscience, — in many ways now doth our Lord 
walk with us, and talk to us, and we know him not. 0, 
this our journey of life is not so poor as we think it ; for, 
as we go carelessly and sadly down the road towards 
death, a great crowd of invisible ones are beside us, and 
perchance even our Master is not far off, — it may be he 
is now speaking at our side ! 

Our Lord Jesus Christ walks with us in the circum- 
stances of our lot in life, instructing us through its com- 
mon relations, and adapting it expressly to our spiritual 
necessities. 

How many of us, who pretend to be Christians, have 
yet to learn that our common life is providential, that it 
contains, even in its most straitened conditions, occasions 
for the practice of an excellence greater than we have ever 
hoped to attain ? To live in connection with other men ; 
to labor for our own subsistence and their welfare ; to 
receive knowledge from living tongues and from the pages 
of books in which is treasured the best portion of many a 
great and good man's life ; to hear the Gospel of Jesus 
Christ preached upon the Sabbath day from the sacred 
place, and through the week from the more sacred tribunal 
of conscience ; to be a father, a mother, a husband, a wife, 
a brother, a sister, or a child ; to stand in the midst of a 
gloriously animated nature, which evermore appeals to the 
heart by silence, and storm, and grandeur, and beauty, 
and unity binding, together a thousand forms of variety ; 
to feel, as we often must, that we sustain holy and elevat- 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



26T 



ing relations with beings who have passed through the 
valley that lies between this world and the world to come ; 
to know, as the believing soul not seldom knows, that we 
dwell very near Him who made us and will never forget 
us ; — this, all this, belongs to the life of the humblest 
soul upon earth. And is there nothing inspiring in such 
a lot ? Can that condition be rightly named common or 
profitless which touches upon everything great and glori- 
ous in the universe? Can those duties be pronounced 
burdensome which are the conditions and proofs of our 
brotherhood to man, and our discipleship of Christ,- and 
our dependence upon God ? If to nourish this wondrously 
gifted soul with wisdom be not a noble employment, where 
shall we find one nobler ? If to pray to an Infinite Love 
be not a privilege, who shall tell us of a greater ? If to 
imitate Him whose "tender mercies are over all his 
works," and, like his Son, to "go about doing good," be 
an occupation too spiritless and mean for our aspiring 
souls, where shall we find one more interesting or more 
elevated ? What would we have instead of that common 
lot which is given to all 7 It is not enough that we are 
made in the image of the Most High, and that, by right- 
eous living, all things in this life and futurity may be ours. 
We must have that wealth which often torments in the 
getting, and plagues in the possession, and flies away 
from us when the footfall of the angel of death is heard 
upon our threshold. We grow discontented in the society 
of nature, and common men, and our own souls, and the 



268 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



spirit of God ! We must live where life puts on a fine 
outside, and trifles away the days, and reels carelessly 
down to the awful close of earthly things. It is not honor 
enough to be a son of the most high God, and a brother 
of the Lord Jesus Christ ! We would be presidents, and 
kings, and wear titles, and hear the world call us great. 
0, brethren, may not your Master be walking with you, 
and talking in your ears along this road of your daily 
existence, and your " eyes be holden, that you do not see 
him?" You are looking away from yourselves for hap- 
piness : you are discontented with your lot ; it is dull and 
wearisome, this weekly round of duty. You long for such 
a position as you can conceive in your imagination ; and, 
dreaming of things impossible, know nothing of the rich- 
ness and sanctity of that which lies about you. 0, call 
in these vagrant fancies, and bid this fretting temper be 
quiet, and blow a cheering blast to rouse this lagging will, 
and open these eyes heavy with dreaming, and filled with 
such tears as only the foolish shed, and unstop these deaf 
ears, and behold thy Saviour at thy side, and listen to the 
heavenly words which flow from his hps, and own that 
thou alone art foolish, and dull, and unworthy of respect, 
and that thy life is divinely appointed. Yes, full of 
spiritual resources, wonderful in its mysterious relations, 
solemn in its warning voices, yet joyous and inspiring in 
its promises, is this our daily existence. It is our journey 
to Emmaus, where the Lord goes along with us, and 
" talks to us by the way." 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



269 



Can you not understand this sacredness of life, as a 
wliole, of which I have now spoken ? Then contemplate 
it in its parts. Let me take you by the hand, and lead 
you into your own house, and tell you how, through the 
relations of home and domestic life, your Lord speaks 
daily to your deaf ears, and hourly walks before your 
beiled eyes. 

Look around this little circle. There are the father and 
mother, to whom you owe your life. Their hearts are 
bound up in you ; they have sacrificed pleasure, gain, 
everything for your sake ; they have watched when their 
eyes were heavily drooping to sleep, have toiled when they 
were weary, have borne things almost beyond human 
endurance, even may have gone wrong and perilled their 
own souls, in their love for you. There is your wife ; has 
she not chosen you out of all the world, and clung to you 
through "evil report and good report," and rejoiced with 
you in your joy, and generously taken upon herself your 
sorrows, and loved you when you did not deserve to be 
loved, and faithfully counselled you in your uncertainty, 
and protected your children ? — or, if she has not done 
this, are you sure that you are not at fault, and have not 
broken her spirit, or turned her heart's best affections 
drearily back upon themselves by your unkindness 7 
There is your husband, who for you encounters hardship, 
and often gives up his own pleasure for your slightest 
wish. There are brother and sister, your first compan- 
ions, part of your life. There is your child, helpless, lov- 



270 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



ing, ^vayward, appealing to you for strength and guidance 
along the perilous way from youth to manhood. Or, if 
all these are not here, yet this is the centre of their love, 
and here they often come, and fill your rooms with mirth 
and joy. Or, it may be, some have passed through that 
door never to return in the flesh ; yet their going away 
has hallowed the walls of your home as their staying 
never could ; and sometimes, when the curtains are drawn, 
and the night has fallen upon the world, and laugh and 
merry talk around the fireside have glided ofi" into a sweet 
and pensive silence, the name of the departed is spoken in 
a low tone, and you know by the sudden awe and love 
that spread from soul to soul that one sits there invisible. 
This is your home ; and, now, what hinders that Jesus 
Christ should come and dwell in the house with you 'I Is 
there unkindness, or anger, or petulance, or selfishness 
there ? Ah, these bar the doors against him ; but these 
alone ; for if love, and forbearance, and piety, and humil- 
ity are there, he will come, though the house be never so 
narrow. If the walls are 7iot hung with purple, he will 
sit there, and talk with you of his Father's kingdom. If 
the table hold only a crust of bread and a cup of water, 
his blessed hands shall be outstretched above it, and call 
down the favor of Heaven. If sorrow and death invade 
you, he will open the holy book and read, ''We know that 
if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we 
have a building of God, an house not made with hands, 
eternal in the heavens." My brother, into this home 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



271 



cometli Christ Jesus every day, and speaketh to thee 
through a father's care and a mother's love, through the 
tenderness of wedded affection, and the confidence of a 
sister's heart, and the pleading face of childhood ; through 
talks around the fireside, and gatherings about the board 
of the divine bounty; through change, and birth, and 
death, and hopes that, cradled in an infant's bed, go out 
and range through infinity, to repose at last at the feet 
of God. Not alone blessed were those disciples who said 
to their Lord, " Abide with us," and at whose table he sat 
when their " eyes were opened ; " but we are invited every 
day by the same illustrious guest, and our eyes are yet 
sealed ! 

And in a still more intimate sense, and in closer resem- 
blance to the occurrence from which our reflections have 
arisen, does our Lord walk unrecognized by our side, in 
the ordination of labor, difficulty, and sorrow. In the 
passages of life which are darkest with the shadow of 
these clouds, our Master is especially near us, and we, too 
often, farther away in heart than ever from him. 

Where is the man who does not often complain of work 
as a curse? How often do our bodies move mechanically 
towards our duty, while our souls long to shake off their 
obligation to a task-master so inexorable ? We would not 
be deprived of the results of labor ; oh, no ! these would 
we all secure in our own person, and without being en- 
tirely undeserving of them ; but we wish they might come 
to us by an easier route. Wc grudge the long process 



272 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



wHich leads to a distant good, the patient delving against 
obstacles, the work that is performed from a sense of duty 
alone. Like an enchanter -vyould we stand in the midst 
of our materials, and by our potent voice call into exist- 
ence beautiful and great creations. And when, because 
of our indolence, the mighty fruition of our hopes is de- 
layed, and our weakness drags after it embarrassment and 
confusion, and work accumulates and threatens, we com- 
plain still more. "This is a great hardship," we say, 
" that Providence should so encumber us with difficulties." 
We try to avoid them, to invent spiritual "labor-saving 
machines;" we rave, or go mad, or let fall our hands in 
despair, anything but encounter the difficulty. And at 
last the crisis comes, and we groan under the retribution 
of our wasted energies, and it seems to us that the way 
back to peace is forever blocked up ; or, perchance, vfith- 
out any very perceptible neglect of duty in us, a storm 
swiftly rises out of a clear horizon, and darkens at mid-day 
the sun that arose and travelled up to the zenith so pro- 
pitiously. And, then, we certainly are privileged to act 
as if God were our enemy and tyrant ! In all these sit- 
uations — in labor, difficulty, retribution, or affliction — 
are we looking afar olF for help, as sad and confused as 
the disciples when they believed that impious hands had 
borne away the body of their Lord. 

Yet, even while those desponding ones mourned their 
great deprivation, Jesus himself walked in the way with 
them. And so, in our periods of doubt and trial-, does 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS, 



273 



our Saviour come to our aid. Yea, this very labor, what 
is it but the constant call to noble efibrt, — the voice of 
Christ, now urging and now cheering us on to new attain- 
ments ? And what is this difficulty which accompanies 
every great accomplishment, but a sharp defiance which 
should kindle our zeal, and bring us on armed at all points 
for the onset ? Is it not the proof by which the Captain 
of our salvation" would test the worth of us who claim 
the right to follow his standard ? And if we are weak 
enough to fear this, how can our Lord entreat us better 
than to send a scourging retribution, which shall crush our 
pride or awaken us from sloth ? Or are we always in 
the best way when we think so ? May not one above us 
in mercy wish to avert the evil consequences of our false 
security while yet they are afar off? Yes, labor, diffi- 
culty, retribution and sorrow are only the varied mani- 
festations of our Master's love, that love which can look 
on in complacency when we suffer, but turns away its face 
in sadness when we sin ; which cares, above all things, to 
present us, made perfect through generous and severe 
discipline, at the throne of God. So does our Lord go 
with us through these dark places of life ; yea, he creates 
the darkness, that within its shadows we may call to him 
to come and lead us. 

So does Jesus walk with us, and talk to us "by the 
way," in all the relations of our life. 0, never is he 
absent ; for when we call upon him he is with us, and 
when we would go away from him, our midnight darkness 



274 



THE WALK TO EMMAUS. 



is onlj the shadow of his receding love. And our souls 
testify to this divine presence. Abroad with nature, or 
amid crowds of men, within our own home, accompanied 
bj friends, or alone upon our bed at night, in joy and 
sorrow, our "hearts burn within us," and tell us the 
Lord is near. And what is this burning of the heart but 
the divine response of the godlike within to the God with- 
out, — the demand for an eternal reunion of our perverted 
nature to the favor of its Maker ? And who are we, and 
what are we doing, that we heed it not? 0, mournful 
the blindness of those whose "eyes are holden" through 
a long life, and go down, towards the evening of death not 
knowing that a celestial presence accompanieth their steps ! 
0, joyful the lot of those who say to him who goeth along 
with them, "Abide with us!" for their eyes shall be 
opened, and they shall see the Lord Jesus Christ, risen 
indeed, and standing in their midst, and their walk from 
Jerusalem to Emmaus shall be a journey from earth to 
heaven. 



XXI. 



OUR FEIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



" My mother and my brethren are these "which hear the word of 
God and do it."— Luke 8 : 21. 

The mother and brethren of Jesus, on one occasion, 
attempted to come near him, but could not, on account of 
the throng. ' ' It was told him by certain which said, 
Thj mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to 
see thee." Jesus, seizing this opportunity to enforce an 
important truth, " answered and said. My mother and my 
brethren are these which hear the word of God and do it." 

By these words the Saviour defined the nature and 
conditions of affection. It depends upon spiritual relation- 
ship rather than ties of blood. The woman who had given 
him birth, and her offspring, were not necessarily his 
mother and brethren, but those who had most faithfully 
listened to and practised the truth he taught, and were, 
therefore, in a similar condition of mind. And what was 
true of him is true of us. Our best friends are those who 
most truly agree with us in spirit. They may or may 
not be members of our own family, but in either case they 
are our natural relations ; and if we are what we ought to 



276 



OUH FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



be, the conditions of friendship with us will be the same 
as with Jesus; we shall love best those who "hear the 
word of God and do it." 

It cannot be doubted, by a mind instructed in Christian 
truth, that love for Jesus Christ is the highest sentiment 
of which we are capable towards one partaking of our 
human nature, and is second in dignity onlj to the love 
of God. By love for the Saviour I do not mean that half 
animal, half spiritual madness, the offspring of religious 
sentimentalism and passion, which so often disgusts seri- 
ous minds, in the ignorant and fanatical. I mean that 
affection which grows upon us as we know more of life, 
and test more fully the insufficiency of human love ; and, 
fixing our soul upon an ideal excellence, are everywhere 
upon earth mocked and baffled in our chief desire, so that 
we are driven from one home of our hearts to another, 
until we repose upon that wondrous nature, half human, 
half divine, which answers to all our needs, resolves every 
doubt, inspires with immortal hopes, and, while enfolding 
us with more than woman's tenderness, gives a strength 
whereby we lift ourselves to the sublime thought of God 
and consecration to His service. In this love for Jesus 
our human loves culminate, deriving thence their own 
beauty and endurance, and in turn interpreting to us the 
grandeur of what transcends themselves. And the surest 
test of character is the presence of this engrossing rever- 
ence and affection for Christ, the image of God, holding 
other special regards as tributary, and inspiring that uni- 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 277 



versa! benevolence without which love is only the most 
intense form of human selfishness. 

It is not to be supposed that the mass of men and 
women will at once comprehend a doctrine like this, which 
may appear to them so like an abstraction of religious 
philosophy. All the great facts of the religious life are 
abstractions to such persons. But they are blessed real- 
ities to those who, by consecration to God and the per- 
formance of duty, have risen to their comprehension. If 
there are few souls who thus love our Lord Jesus Christ, 
it is because there are few souls pure, strong, vast, and 
clear enough to accept that divine affection offered by him. 
Tor us who are blinded, depraved, enfeebled, and narrowed 
by ignorance and sin, there is but one way of attaining it, 
the way pointed out by him Avhen he said, "My mother 
and my brethren are these which hear the word of God 
and do it.^^ Obedience to conscience, the diligent and 
constant improvement of our faculties, and the thankful 
reception of the beautiful gifts of Heaven, will gradually 
lead us to where we shall begin to comprehend that to be 
loved by Jesus Christ is better than the favor of the whole 
world, and is the condition of love to God. 

But while the living a religious life is, in general terms, 
the condition upon which we become capable of love to 
Jesus Christ, there are portions of our human experience 
which seem peculiarly adapted to produce this result. 
Our affection for our fellow-beings constitutes much of the 
discipline and happiness of our earthly existence, by its 
24 



2T8 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



varied forms educating and developing our spirits. I do 
not say that the only use and legitimate result of these 
experiences of human love is to lead us to the love of 
Jesus Christ ; for affection is good independent of any use 
— is life itself But certainly one result and important 
use of our earthly attachments is to prepare us for this 
great union with our Saviour, — a union more complete 
and sacred than that of parent with child, brother with 
sister, friend with friend, or husband with wife, — includ- 
ing what is permanent in these, and rising far above them 
all into the awful region of the one love, unchangeable and 
infinite. 

True affection depends upon appreciation of the beloved. 
It is impossible to love what we do not know ; and con- 
sciously or unconsciously our attachments keep pace with 
our insight. We may consent that a portion of the nature 
shall be wrapped in mystery ; but there must be enough 
open to us to make love intelligent, else we only worship 
a picture of our own fancy. Jesus Christ must be known 
better than most of us know him to be regarded with that 
sentiment he claims from his disciples. But how is such 
knowledge to be obtained '? How are we to rise from our 
unspiritual lives to the appreciation of the loftiest nature 
that ever dwelt in the flesh ? This is an achievement far 
above our ordinary efforts. It is easy to overlook a garden 
from our windows, and take in its beauties in detail and as 
a whole ; but the Alps are to be known only after we have 
looked from a thousand points, toiled up steep summits. 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



279 



descended into fearful ravines, walked along the edge of 
glaciers, seen the sunrise, the sunset, the mist and the 
storm, and wearily gone over and around their vast area. 
Then we can recall the stupendous scene in all its glorj 
and beauty. Even so, compared with our common esti- 
mates of men, must be our appreciation of him who is the 
ideal of the human, because the image of the divine. 

We must, therefore, be content to come by slow degrees 
to that knowledge of Jesus which precedes a worthy love. 
We must learn the beauty and excellence of the different 
elements of his nature, by long acquaintance and minute 
information, before we can hold in imagination the figure 
in its colossal symmetry. And here our human attach- 
ments come to our aid. Introducing us to various exalted 
qualities in character, and arousing the unappeasable 
desire for an ideal excellence, they prepare us at length 
for just appreciation and sympathy with our Lord and 
Saviour. 

We may not always be aware that each of our earthly 
friends sustains a peculiar relation to us which no other 
human spirit can usurp. And perhaps the secret cause 
of their attraction is their power to satisfy some desire of 
ours. We long for an answering voice to the deepest 
yearnings of our hearts, and though we cannot define what 
it is that makes us restless and at odds with life, the com- 
ing of a new friend solves the problem by supplying that 
special need. It is vain to look to friends for more than 
this, since no human soul will entirely content our own 



280 



OUR miENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



forever, for tlie simple reason that our craving for love is 
infinite, and there is only one Infinite Being. Therefore, 
every attachment short of the love of God must be incom- 
plete, answering only to a portion of our nature. Yet so 
strangely are we constituted that, for the time, a human 
heart seems all in all to us. We are drawn to the friend 
who can represent but a small part of the excellence of 
humanity as strongly as if he were its perfect incarnation, 
and are held there till something greater and better, or at 
least difierent, claims our homage. So it is that our real 
friends are those who stand to us for real elements of the 
Christian character, and the result of their personal 
attraction is to bring us into nearer communion with the 
facts of which they are the impersonation. 

And God gives friends to be our instructors, if we sin- 
cerely desire to do his will. At one time we are in mental 
doubt, weakness, and confusion; with faculties all alive, 
we stand before the veiled land of knowledge, uncertain 
where we shall go, appalled by its mysteries, too irresolute 
to move on, and too proud to turn back. Then, when 
it seems to us that life is worthless w^ithout wisdom, some 
friend appears, whom we instinctively recognize as the 
guide and master of our intellect. It is of little conse- 
quence whether he consciously assumes the position of 
teacher, or we of scholar, — perhaps better that it should 
not be thus ; but he pours into our mind the living force 
of his own, clears up our doubts, inspires courage, teaches 
us to use our powers, shames our despondency, and 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



281 



concentrates our energies, and it becomes our noblest 
ambition to follow him out into this wild, weary tract of 
thought ; we live in his genius, and through him first does 
truth become a reality. 

But he is not enough for us. Our mental confusion 
partially disappears, and we become more self-reliant and 
sure of ourselves. We can look with hope and satisfaction 
upon questions w^hich once overwhelmed us with difii- 
culties ; and a new desire faintly stirs with us, gaining 
strength with our efforts to repress it, till the intense gaze 
of our whole nature seems concentrated upon this blank 
space in our horizon. It is not enough now that we know 
the truth ; we would comprehend the beauty of things. 
A painful sense of discord steals into our studies ; life 
seems made of conflicting elemenis, and nowhere do we 
see the forming hand that shall mould them to unity. 
Then comes our new friend, the man who looks upon all 
things through the poet's eyes. Flowers spring along his 
steps, and beauty attends like a familiar companion. 
While he talks, life rearranges itself ; its joys gleam again 
with the flush of youth ; its sorrows retire into the mel- 
low light of the background ; its duties and heroic efforts 
tower like mountains on the horizon line aloft, and the 
strange, incongruous scene is changed to a picture enfolded 
by a radiant atmosphere, not of the earth. In the person 
of this friend we learn to value the sense of harmony and 
fitness, to abhor the unseemly and incomplete, and under- 
stand that beauty is the native garb of truth. And in his 
24* 



282 OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



winning, graceful spirit, we, unknown to ourselves, do 
homage to that Infinite Beauty of which he is a partial 
impersonation. 

But we were not made to be perpetual listeners and 
admirers ; and bj-and-bj the desire to give out of our own 
treasures appears. But we cannot talk to these every-day 
companions ; our lips are dumb, and our words stiff and 
cold, and only provoke the contempt of those who hear, 
till, on a fortunate day, we are brought alongside of one 
who unseals our frozen spirit, and to y/hom it flows out in 
free and rejoicing speech. To this soul we can talk all 
day and all night; in its bracing air our mind never tires; 
while it listens, thoughts range themselves like marshalled 
troops, and figures come without the calling, and power 
from deep places wells up into our words, and the rhythm 
of the theme sings itself into our ears. ^ It is not that our 
friend talks, only comprehends, and with spirit close 
alongside our own, tempts out into a free life what before 
could only hide its bashful head in secret chambers of the 
heart. And this soul teaches us freedom, and first makes 
us know and respect ourselves. 

And then comes the one who first reveals the meaning 
of the saying, "He who loveth not knoweth not God;" 
the one who can love us, whose affection can stoop to our 
common wants, or rise to the altitude of our grandest 
thought ; who can be at once the sunshine in our pleasure 
and the arm of strength in our weariness and gloom ; who 
seems to us, we know not why, altogether lovely. And 



OUE FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 283 



we go to this spirit as the river flovfs down into the gen- 
erous sea. We pledge vows of eternal affection, and per- 
haps before men declare it to be the one whom we prefer 
out of all the world, to be our constant friend. And this 
is well and beautiful ; for so much above all other things 
is love, that its divine mysteries can only be comprehended 
by this interlinking of soul with soul in the perfect union 
of sense and spirit; and through such union, if we are 
apt to be taught, do we learn the reality of love, and awake 
to the life in Christ and God. 

And beyond these personal friends there are men and 
women whom we love with a calmer and more spiritual 
affection, because they are away from our immediate pres- 
ence, and more purely represent ideas ; — the poet, whose 
song, a century old, is sung to-day by our own heart, 
whose piercing eyes we should fear to meet, so entirely do 
his words describe us ; the statesman, who is justice and 
power ruling discord, whose name, read in history or 
heard in oration, is a law to our reverence ; the preacher, 
who seems with his wide and deep insight to be indeed the 
minister of God, for his rebukes bring us upon our knees, 
his cheering assurances inspire our hopes, and in his 
speech and life the kingdom of God has come again with 
power ; and, with these, that crowd of great and good men 
who claim our reverence from their places in history, and 
to whom we appeal in vindication of our common human- 
ity : and above all are those who were nearest to us while 
they hvcd, but have now put on immortality, — who, abid- 



284 



OUE FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



ing witli us upon eartli, made it a dwelling-place we would 
not have exchanged for any heaven, reconciling its dis- 
cords, and sanctifying its low^est uses by endearing associ- 
ations, and by passing away have been born again to us, 
so that their humanity seems lost in the glory of their 
higher life, whence they look, through calm, clear eyes, 
down upon us, wandering, weak, and faithless below. 
Thus are we surrounded with friends, personal and ideal, 
who present to us, phase by phase, this human nature of 
ours, and compel us to acknowledge the worth of every 
element of the perfect character, while they forbid us to 
repose in themselves, and all, with reverent faces, look 
upward to our elder brother and Lord. 

For we must have had small experience if we think any 
of these friends sufficient for our utmost need. Drawn to 
us by our partial and temporary wants, they can only 
serve us as far and as long as God appoints. Perhaps 
some of them are to be our companions forever; yet 
through what changes of relationship we are to pass, it 
w^ere impossible to predict. But this is evident, that no 
human soul can entirely respond to ours, and we feel this 
most surely w^hen receiving the best gifts of affection. 
For, if our friend is all-sufficient, why do we crave other 
and different mates ? Because he cannot be all-sufficient ; 
and, though he compels our attention in his presence, his 
absence reveals too plainly what he is not. The holiest 
relation upon earth is no exception to this truth. Husband 
and wife cannot be the whole universe to each other ; they 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 285 



may- be dear and excellent beyond estimation, wliile they 
act along with nature, humanity, literature, labor, life and 
God ; for these are always ready to supply our needs, and 
we cheat ourselves into the belief that we are receiving 
from one spirit what comes in so great degree from them. 
Indeed, were it possible for two souls to be sequestered 
from these influences, the result would be mutual destruc- 
tion, and the sorrowful experience of irreligious men and 
women, who dream that they can continue to love each 
other without loving God and all the good and beautiful 
things He has made, is a refutation to that sentimental 
blasphemy which exalts the creature to the place of the 
Creator. No ; we cannot be satisfied with human love. 
Our desires outstrip its capacity, and, ministered to by all 
its constancy and tenderness, we cry out in weariness for 
that which is greater, — for one soul to gather in the 
scattered rays of perfection which here and there have 
dazzled our eyes, and pour full upon us the hght of a 
celestial life. 

Thus are we prepared by what our friends do, and what 
they cannot do, for the appreciation of the character of 
our Lord Jesus Christ. For, by long experience of the 
worth of the elements of a complete nature, known in 
separate individuals, we are trained to reverence for their 
higher manifestations in him; and, by the very unrest 
and dissatisfaction which come at the end of human sym- 
pathy, we are inspired with a longing for an ideal friend- 
ship, in which we may securely repose. And while sur- 



286 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



veying in detail these human excellences and graces, the 
wish is born to see them united ; and at last the desire of 
our hearts is to know one being who is all, and more than 
all, the world can be, — whose nature is poised bj the 
balance of opposite qualities ; who is strong and gentle, 
wise and childlike ; whom we can love down to the depths 
of our being without tumult or danger, and can respect 
without fear ; who can know us entirely in our weakness 
and strength, and yet enfold us in unfailing compassion ; 
who may be the type of that infinite love which we are 
yet too low and ignorant to comprehend. 

And, blessed be God, in mercy to our mortal infirmity 
He has given to us and all mankind one such friend, — 
that being whose thought includes the wisdom of men, 
whose life is the world's only true poem, whose holiness 
transcends the ideal of the race, and whose nature, whether 
human or divine, is yet a vast unexplored land of wonder, 
■ — our brother, and our Saviour, Jesus Christ, is that 
perfect friend. For did ever man, or woman, or little 
child, come to him in vain ? Stronger than manly power, 
more gentle than woman's heart, more simple than child- 
hood's faith, he gives to each from his abundance, and 
turns no one away. And did life ever bring that con- 
dition with which he could not have sympathy ? The 
poor man is his friend ; the sinner is the brother of him 
who knew temptation ; the ignorant is not despised by him 
who veiled his face before the infinite wisdom; the despond- 
ing leans upon him who knew the agony of Gethsemane ; 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 287 



the unloved may claim him who was crucified by a world 
that knew him not ; and all the power, the inspiration, the 
zeal, and the devotion of life's highest hours is mirrored 
in that spirit whose ministry was the turning-point in the 
life of humanity. And when we come nearer our own 
souls, and think of their myriad wants, how entirely do 
they all find satisfaction in that mighty soul of his. We 
have only to study his character and words, and do the 
will of God, and, as we go on through our earthly exist- 
ence, those words will be ever opening into new depths 
of meaning, and that character, seen from changing points, 
will become more complete and sufficing. The noblest 
men have found in him more excellence than they could 
understand, and a better sympathy than they could 
imagine ; and every religious mind will joyfully respond 
to the truth, that he remains the one incomparable friend, 
because the one in whom the ideal has alone appeared in 
the flesh. 

Thus are we instructed by our earthly friends into the 
appreciation and love of Jesus Christ. And when he is 
truly ours, Vv'e better know and love those who have led 
us to him ; for then we cease to demand perfection in 
finite minds, or satisfaction in human love, and with grati- 
tude accept what these can give, knowing that above them 
all is our final home. And, more than this, our Saviour's 
love is the reconciling point between man and God ; for 
we look down from it upon a glorified humanity, and 
upward to the great good Father. So are we led up this 



288 



OUR FRIENDS AND OUR SAVIOUR. 



mount of ascension. When we are children, parent, 
brother and sister, guide us a little way along the base ; 
early manhood finds us clambering up its sides ; and one 
friend after another throws an arm around us, and a few 
there may be who go all the way, singing as we move on. 
And these lead us up a winding path, around sudden 
corners, whence the landscape is seen far olF below, now 
resting a moment upon a grassy upland, or leaning against 
a wall of rock. Old guides shake our hand and depart, 
and new ones, with beaming faces, await us. And if we 
tire not, and are true to them and to ourselves, we reach 
at last the summit, and there is our Lord Jesus Christ ; 
and, holding by his white robes, we look down upon the 
wide expanse of earth, while far away along the horizon 
kindles the dawning glory of an Immortal Love. 



